#i need to go to the office this week too blegh!!!

[alackofghosts]

i have spent the whole day noodling away at what is essentially a napkin doodle. 👍

[thessalian]

Thess vs Common Sense

Somehow (probably to do with me working my ass off when people were away), we're almost entirely up to date on the typing. So I finally asked for some time off to kill this bloody migraine. I was only going to ask for a half-day but Scruffman was like, "Nah, just go; everyone's here".

I've also booked some more annual leave, since I had a lot outstanding, and Stepdad is probably going to take longer to get the other flat fixed than he realised (though I did confirm that if I need to swap some of my annual leave on short notice, I can - just in case Stepdad goes, "I'm done; we're moving you in two weeks"). Temp and New Girl booked the entire two weeks around Christmas and New Year off, which I guess is okay because there is still the bank holidays and it's not like I'm going to have to commute. Plus there aren't going to be a lot of people at the office anyway. So I took the Easter week instead, because we should all have a chance to book time off that's augmented by a public holiday.

So now I have the whooooole afternoon. ...And all I can really do with it is veg because I am still nursing this damn migraine. Blegh. At least I had the sense to not dawdle through the Annoyances that the others tend to leave for me to deal with, all while more or less squinting at the screen because too much light. Dark Mode is my friend right now.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

' get in . we're going somewhere you can cool your head off . ' the radio will be turned on and there will be no words necessary between them . the radio will be turned on and on the road they will pass versions of themselves and be reminded that everything is manmade and nothing matters . the radio will be turned on and those disembodied voices will feel like the last voices on earth . the radio is on . // blegh , hands u this with me tremblin hands

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ MODERN VERSE Song: The Night We Met - Lord Huron

'What do you mean how did I "find this number"? You're my SON, Robin! Do you have any idea how worried your mother is? Did you even think to bother giving us a phonecall?'

'No! I don't want to hear any excuses on this, do you even care? You've ignored our calls for weeks! This has really showed me how much you actually think about us, thank the lord for that information. Did you forget about Wren's graduation too-'

The melodic plucking of guitar strings seemed to wrap around Robin like a warm embrace, a familiar song that he had heard while situated in Danny's arms on their patio during a sweltering summer afternoon. He could almost hear his soft, scratchy voice singing along with the lyrics as their fingers interlocked and Danny brought the pad of his thumb over Robin's knuckles and serenaded him with a smile on his face. A smile Robin would kill to see right now- but he couldn't. Sure, Danny had only said thousands of times that if he needed him, he could always just give a phonecall. But...Robin had just fixed his collar and kissed his mouth to send him off to his office, thermos full of hot espresso, so he could go finish his story. The phonecall hadn't come until after during dinner, the voice on the other end spewing poison harsh enough to make the assistant wish he'd never touched food at all...that simmering away into nothing would be better.

He supposed that his trembling silence, highlighted by hitched breaths and sniffles, had alerted Yone that something was wrong when he had called only 30 minutes after in order to cement some chords for the next song. Robin's lie stating that his "allergies were just so bad today!" was enough to seemingly teleport the DJ to his apartment and coax him into his car. A practiced activity that they'd done too many times in life, a silent statement about how miserable life could be but... sometimes sharing misery was one of the simplest joys of life. To have someone hold you in their heart enough to swim down into the blackest pits of your soul, to sit beside you in that sadness... Perhaps this drive to nowhere was less a statement of pain and more of a statement of love. Of gentle weeping, crying over and over again "I am here. You are not alone."

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met....

He did not notice the warm tears dripping down his face, not until their twinkle sung of starlight when illuminated by a passing street lamp. Only did they exist within the reflection staring back at him as his hair bunched on the window he leaned on. Robin lifted his gaze slowly towards the dark sky before it settled on the painted golds and purples of twilight, which shyly peeked over the horizon as dusk quickly approached. His lids were heavy, slipping lower and lower, ready to give into rest - or perhap escape? - and relax. A caress like a ghost's kiss brought his wet eyes to open wide and shift down to the finger hooked into his. To his open phone he hadn't heard buzz with a simple "2 more hours dear, I love you." text that only made his heart want to burst with affection...how he hoped to drown in it.

I am here.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet.. Oh, take me back to the night we met.

He found enough strength, perhaps drawing it from Yone, to pick up his phone and type back that he loved him too. How excited he was to see him again, he left out that he wishes he was with him, he could cry to him later, he didn't need to scare Danny while he was at work. When he finally set his device down the world had fallen into darkness and he was quick to bring the hand opposite of Yone up to his eyes to wipe away his emotions. Minutes past as the last parts of the song fell away to leave them in a moment of silence, one that almost prompted Robin to speak and stain the quiet with his voice. He kept his mouth shut, no need to speak of anything...not when he wasn't ready to yet...

Not when the radio was on.

[phalacrocoraxdreams]

bleh day at camp staff week today, had some nice moments of connection with some of my new coworkers and my friend from last year showed me some very cool mushrooms but generally felt really. not connected to other people in a way that meant autism trauma was riding kind of close to the surface. which is always how it feels halfway through staff week, im not too upset about it because i know things will change and i have people there who care about me and yadda yadda. i AM feeling upset about a moment that happened between me and my camp friend who is also my supervisor… he had pulled me into the office to tell me some stuff i had wanted to know but he needed to ask about, and he was clearly kind of stressed then/all day and at the end of this conversation (i was standing he was in a rolly chair holding a tupperware of quinoa salad) he like, put his arm out in a way that i interpreted as him initiating the Guy Hand Clasp so i did that and he was like kind of sadly “i was hoping for a hug” and i was like “oh! i can give you a hug haha of course” and leaned over and gave him truly a midtier hug at best and then asked an unrelated question and he was like if its not urgent ask it later & can you go tell people they have 5 minutes until lunch is done. which i did. and then felt so triggered for the next like hour/hour and a half! and i couldnt figure out what had upset me so much, but thinking about it now i think the way that hug happened just felt really icky to me. it felt like i had already messed up so i couldn’t say no to it, and in general it didn’t feel like he was actually seeing me at all in that moment and like he was just… using my body to get what he needed. i know he did not mean it like that and he was just stressed and was thinking about his own stuff & i fawned, which is not on him. i am upset he didnt ask me for a hug verbally because he knows im autistic so i feel like he should have an awareness that i struggle with nonverbal cues but he doesnt actually know me that well, and no one is their most thoughtful when super stressed lol. im going to try to find a time tomorrow to tell him that i would appreciate being asked more explicitly before hugging or touching. and it will be so fine bc he is a great guy just, blegh

[tiny-as-a-firely]

closed starter for @incalescentia

Dorothea Taylor was usually a perfect student.

That is, until two weeks ago when she sat in the academic counselor’s office and learned that she needed to pick an elective. She had allowed it to slip through the cracks, which meant that she had to sign up for the first class that would accept her with late notice.

The Age of The Renaissance and Reformation.

Blegh. Even the name made her cringe as she made her way across the literature building which housed all the written arts classes. She longed to be in one of the classrooms she was walking by, talking about journalistic integrity and writing about truth. Instead, she was rushing to her boring history lesson that she hadn’t done any of the summer reading for, because she had only been assigned to the class for a week.

Dora forced herself to not look at the front of the class as the door opened with a soft groan. She walked straight to the back, ignoring the slight pause in the professor’s lecture as she sank into her seat in the back row next to her history-geek friends.

“You’re late.” One of them whispers.

“I know.” She grumbles.

“You missed it. He reaches up to turn on the projector earlier and you could see his arm muscles under his shirt.” 

Dorothea rolls her eyes before finally glancing up at Dr. Conrad Hawkins, "NYU’s hottest professor". Or at least that’s what the history girls say. Dora opens her computer and pulls up the school portal, eyes scanning for her grade that she should have received near the start of this class.

D+.

Dora slams her computer shut with slightly too much gusto, causing the students around her to glance back at her, Dr. Hawkins pausing to look at her.

Someone set me on fire right now.

“I’m sorry.” She says, and something like amusement flickers across Dr. Hawkins’ features before he continues to speak, pacing at the front of the class. Asshole.

Dora tries her best to listen to the lecture, and even her friends eventually go back to taking notes, obviously engaged with the material. She settles for opening her computer and scrolling through the website of the New Yorker, skimming through the Arts & Culture section that had been updated this weekend.

“Miss Taylor, can I have a word before you go?” Dr. Hawkins’ voice pulls her away from her reading, and that’s when she notices that class has been dismissed. Her friends give her knowing glances as they walk down the lecture hall and out of the room, leaving her to face the best. Traitors.

She scoops up her things and walks up to the front of the room, exhaling a sigh. 

“Hi, Dr. Hawkins. You wanted to talk to me?”

[fandom-monium]

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be? 

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows. 

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous. 

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about? 

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all. 

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.” 

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are. 

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal. 

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that. 

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed? 

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh. 

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door. 

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug. 

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name." 

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

 "You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions. 

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you. 

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting. 

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you? 

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare. 

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile. 

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles. 

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago. 

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back. 

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile. 

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.” 

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters. 

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism. 

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance 

[utterlyinevitable]

Hc on ethan and Becca's first date in a restaurant

First Dinner Date 

Becca has been bugging Ethan about a date night for weeks. 

She has been dropping not so subtle hints ever since their overnight case at the ski resort. Then they agreed to a secret relationship or whatever they are to one another and it was time to cash in on the ‘wherever, whenever’ promise he made her. 

Ethan finally entertained the idea in the most confusing way possible. 

One evening they were curled up in his living room and Becca broached the subject once more. 

With a sigh Ethan padded into the kitchen. He retrieved a small mixing bowl out of his cupboard along with two pens and a notepad. 

Sitting on his couch wrapped up in the throw blanket was a very confused Becca. 

He sauntered back over, placing the bowl on the glass coffee table and handed her a pen and paper; 

“Write down your top three cuisines and no more than 5 restaurants you like or would like to try and fold them up.” 

“Why?”

He gave her a look that read like if she asked any more questions she’d risk losing out on the surprise. 

Once she left for the evening, Ethan pulled a piece of paper out of the bowl. 

He expelled a dry laugh and debated pulling out another. 

It was a restaurant in his neighborhood - less than a 10 minutes walk away. One of the ones he wrote down he’d like to try. It was kismet really - a funny little joke. His innate need to separate their relationship from their work life was being challenged by an invisible force he didn’t believe in. And the first place he picks to celebrate their coupling is in a distinguished restaurant by the hospital. 

No time like the present. Time to face his fears head on. 

The only solace Ethan had was knowing no resident could afford such a place. Any of his peers wouldn’t dare approach him outside of office hours. 

Then he meticulously planned a date for two weeks away. Specifically planned it so they’d have the next day off together. 

Deaux was a modern restaurant known for their impeccable service, elegant dining room and world-class wine list. 

“Wow, this place is fancy,” She noted as she took her seat by the elegant fireplace in the tranquil and dimly lit palette-of-grays dining room. Looking at the menu she added, “French?”

“They use American ingredients to make the dishes. The wine list is meant to be impeccable.” 

Becca smiled knowingly, “That’s a raving review coming from you.” 

As Ethan thumbed through the carefully curated leather bound menu he shrugged, “I’ve been meaning to try this place since it opened a few years ago.” 

“What’s stopped you?” she inquired, knowing full well that his work-life is what kept him from most things he enjoys. 

Ethan’s ocean eyes met hers. He spoke with laden honesty, “I’ve never had anyone worth sharing this experience with.” 

Becca playfully rolled her eyes while the blush creeping up on her cheeks betrayed her true feelings. 

Moments passed in silence as they perused the seasonal menu. She looked at the prices and her eyes widened involuntarily. Ethan caught her shock. 

“Order whatever you want.” 

“It’s too much,” she shook her head, resigned. “Just on appetizers it’d be $50 between us.” 

“My treat.” 

She looked at him with pleading eyes. 

“Would you rather I order for you?” 

Becca knew he meant it to be a sweet gesture that she was going to undoubtedly reject, yet something stopped her. It was an interesting proposition. 

Becca’s eyes narrowed and Ethan’s brows knitted together. 

“You think you’d know exactly what I’d pick?” she challenged.  

“I’m sure I could.” 

“Fine.” Becca said with a devious smile “You order for me and I’ll order for you.” 

Ethan pretended to mull it over. There wasn’t any harm in the game and he was always up for a challenge where Becca was concerned. 

“One condition: I choose the wine for both of us.” 

“Deal” 

Once the waiter came over, Ethan order a bottle of red wine Becca could not pronounce. 

“Are you ready to order?” he looked between Ethan and Becca.

“Yes,” Ethan and made a motion for Becca to order first. 

For a split second she debated rethinking this game - debated choosing a whole other meal for her companion. But, no. If her mentor taught her anything it was to listen to her gut.

“Can we have the warm winter salad to start and the Giannone Chicken Breast for the main.” 

The waiter nodded as he wrote down the order then looked to Ethan.

“She’ll have the Duck Confit to start and then the Prime Beef Tenderloin. Also with a side of herb and parmesan fries for the table. Thank you.”  

The waiter asked if they had any allergies and promised to bring their wine right away. 

“That’s a lot of meat you got there,” she noted. 

Ethan rolled his eyes; “So... How’d I do?” 

With a shit-eating smirk she told him, “I would have never ordered the tenderloin.” 

“I know.” 

It was Ethan’s turn to gloat; “If it wasn’t for the price you would have ordered it.” 

Her heart beat just a tad faster at how well he knew her - how he just wanted to make her happy at any cost.  

“How’d I do?” she asked. 

Ethan smiled warmly. 

He didn’t get to verbalize his praise, the waiter came over and the two were engrossed in tasting the wine and sampling their appetizers. 

Pleasant conversation passed between them effortlessly and the wine flowed. The food was overpriced but a delicious work of art. Becca was grateful for Ethan and this experience but couldn’t wait to treat him to one of her places. 

During their entrée a loud gasp of “oh my god!” screeched from a few tables behind them. The doctors in Ethan and Becca halted to attention, assessing the scene in case they were needed to assist. 

When their heads whipped around to the ‘patient’, they noticed a man on his knee and a woman with her right hand to her mouth biting back the elated tears.  

Becca inaudibly “awed” at the couple. 

When the scene was over and they brought their attention back to their little bubble, she scrunched up her nose and added; “Blegh! Did you have to choose such a romantic place? 0 out of 10, do not bring your colleagues here.” She shoved a large bit of beef into her mouth to stop her smile. 

All Ethan did was reach for her hand; “You’re not my colleague.” 

The twinkle in his clear azure eyes told her all she needed to know. 

For the first time outside the confines of Ethan’s apartment - in a very public place - Becca brought their joined hands to her lips and placed a lingering kiss to his fingers. 

________________________________________

Masterlist

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel@whimsicallywayward15 @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious @missmiimiie​ @uneravine​  @peaceinmidstofchaos @choicesaddict5​ @iemcpbchoices​

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @stygianflood @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart @casey-v @ramseyandrys @ethanramseylover @ramseyreader  @a-crepusculo @aarisa-frost @shanzay44​

[cheeriecherry]

Birds Of A Feather [4/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: some swearing, a kiss

Part 4/7

By the end of the week, you’re walking into Hawks’ penthouse with nothing but a duffel bag of clothes. Most of your stuff had been moved to storage, but you’d told him you’d bring your own sheets, blankets, and pillows for the couch. He’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

He’d then gone on a tangent about how he had guest rooms, obviously, and how his sheets would be softer than yours. He’s probably not wrong, with his 1200 thread count egyptian cotton, but the way he says it ruffles you a bit. You don’t mention it, though. You don’t want to give him any kind of reason to kick you out.

“Hey chickadee, you gonna stand in the entrance all night, or are you gonna come in?”

You snap out of your stupor when Hawks calls to you, and continue lugging your things through the door.

The inside of the penthouse is beautiful; tastefully decorated (probably professionally), and it’s spacious rough that you could spread your wings out fully. The doorways are wider than average, likely catering to your boss’ specific needs. The entire place is gorgeous, immaculate even, and any person in their right mind would kill to live here.

You kind of detest it.

“I had some people come in this afternoon and set up the guest suite for you,” he says, kicking off his boots and flopping onto the couch. “They also brought some of your uniforms in from the agency, so you can change here. You won’t have to go in so early.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and you mean it. Personal opinions aside, he’s let you into his home out of kindness. You’ll not soon disrespect that.

“Ah, you’re standing and staring again. Are you that impressed with the place?”

You snap back to attention for a second time, and hike your bag further up your shoulder. “I-it’s not that!” you try to explain, “I was just expecting something...different?”

Hawks sits up on the couch. “Whadya mean?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “More lived in, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful here, especially the balcony, but it’s also very...what’s the word…”

“Mature and charming?” he tries, but you shake your head.

He offers a few more suggestions, things like ‘perfect’ and ‘homey’ and ‘colourful’, each word hitting further and further from your mark.

Then it comes to you. “Monotone and sterile!” you nearly shout, your success momentarily quieting your desire to be polite. “It’s like it’s fresh out of a magazine, or a model home. Don’t take it the wrong way, Boss, I’m not hating on your tastes, but if I’m gonna be staying here indefinitely, I’m gonna have to add some personal touches.” You remember your manners. “If that’s okay…”

You worry that you may have offended him, with the way he’s looking at you, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling.

“Finally,” he sighs, “someone who speaks their damn mind.”

“Eh?”

“Do you know how many of the people I’ve invited here tell me ‘how beautiful’ it is?” He adjusts his wings and settles comfortably back into the couch. “All of them. Every single one. And look, I’m grateful that I’ve got this place, but it’s just a house. No sentimentality, no memories...just a space.”

“Well...it’s polite to not insult someone’s home when they invite you over…” you mumble, the severity of your outburst making your face heat up.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe they’re all schmoozing and hoping to get on my good side.”

The bitterness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you decide to leave it be. He should be free to be himself in his own home, and not have to put up any kind of front. You hoped he’d supply you the same courtesy, when you inevitably would wake up on the wrong side of the bed some mornings.

“Anyways,” he flips the TV on and tosses the remote to the side, “it’s late. You should probably unpack your stuff before you’re too tired.”

“Yeah…” you realize how wiped out you are as the weariness starts to settle in. “I’ve got tomorrow off though, so...if I wake up on time, I’ll bring you curry.”

You can hear him cheering as you walk down the hall to the guest room, and you smile. You’ll never understand his love for chicken, even though his enthusiasm boosted your confidence.

The room is spacious and airy, and has a beautiful view of the city. The bed itself is probably big enough to hold three people, and you’re silently grateful that your wings won’t be hanging on the floor while you sleep anymore. 

You set your bag down by the door, and flop face first onto the mattress. God, it was the most plush thing you’d ever had the pleasure to lay on.

“I’ll unpack tomorrow,” you mumble, sinking further into the sheets and, eventually, sleep.

In the distance, you hear Hawks snoring.

----

You wake up the next day to sunlight hitting your face. It’s bright, and annoying, and too warm, and your bed really wants you to keep sleeping but you don’t think you can.

You sit up.

You can feel that your hair is a disheveled mess, and your tongue feels gummy and sour.

“Blegh.”

You (regrettably) roll out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to fix your morning vibes, checking the time along the way. Ten is later than you would have liked to wake up, but you suppose you really needed the sleep. And you did, surprisingly, feel more rested than you had in months.

It’s ten thirty by the time you’re done in the washroom, overall energy more put together and presentable, and you waste no time heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen which is...painfully under-stocked. A couple of condiments and wilting vegetables in the fridge...some frozen meat in the freezer...a bag of rice under the sink, for some reason, and...a completely full spice rack, every bottle unopened.

You knew your boss didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but this was just sad. 

You make a mental note to go shopping later.

Thankfully he seems to have the necessary ingredients for chicken curry, which you’re happy about. It means you won’t have to brave the store just yet.

Bit by bit, you pull out what you need in order to cook, only sitting down when you have a moment to spare as the rice cooks.

‘Hey Boss, I’m making curry for lunch. Want me to bring you some?’

You send him a text. It’s still fairly early, and you know he has his meetings in the morning, so you doubt that he’ll get back to you before-

Your phone buzzes.

‘Chickadee, you sure know the way to my heart. I’ll leave my office window open.’

You send him a thumbs up emoji.

----

Once the food is finished, you pack it up into two containers, opting to leave the rest in the pot for now. You made lots, enough to get several meals out of it, just in case Hawks pulled his ‘too busy to cook’ excuse when trying to convince you to order take-out.

It doesn’t take long to fly to the agency, the skies much clearer than the roads. The city itself seems relatively calm, no sounds of explosions or screaming. There is a distant plume of dark smoke on the horizon, though…

But there were other heroes in the area. You wouldn’t be missed if you didn’t show up for one disaster...right?

But then you land in the window of your boss’ office, and your worry spikes. The room is empty, door closed, lights off, paperwork strewn about on the desk...like he’d run off in a hurry.

You pull your phone out and send him a text.

‘Lemme know if something came up. I brought lunch, but I can put it away for later. Stay safe!

-Chickadee’

He doesn’t reply, but that’s expected if he’s dealing with some kind of crisis. Maybe you should have headed to whatever disaster you’d seen earlier...if it was bad enough to call on your boss, it must be a pretty dire situation. Maybe he could use an extra pair of wings?

You sigh and take a seat beside the window, staring out at the city skyline. The black smoke across the way has turned to a dusty grey colour, a much less threatening hue, and one that bode well for any possible fires.

He’ll be fine, you decide, with other heroes undoubtedly on the scene. By the time you’d get there, whatever was happening would be dealt with.

You pull out your phone to scroll through the news while you eat.

Nothing urgent appears on the screen, nothing to incline that you were needed somewhere, nothing to say extra help was needed. Just day-old stories, gossip columns, the occasional media review. You do startle a little when a new article pops up that’s focused around your boss. You click on it, expecting to see some kind of haggard scene...but you only laugh.

“Hawks, most eligible bachelor in Japan, off the market?” You scroll further into the article to see what kind of nonsense the reporters have come up with this time.

What you don’t expect, is to find pictures of yourself littering the page. Pictures of you and Hawks together. On patrol, talking over lunch at a cafe he took you to one time, walking into his agency side by side, and -most recently- the two of you landing on his balcony.

You’re slightly panicked, and very, very flustered. Had he seen the column? God, he was probably used to it, though, being as popular as he was. All he had to do was look at someone and the media would start crying wolf, which in your opinion, was stupid.

Still, the more you read the article, the more you find it has some good points. You two did spend a lot of time together, more than he did with any of his other friends. But that’s all you are. Friends. Friends, and completely platonic roommates.

You weren’t sure why that made your heart sink so much.

So you copied the link to the article and sent it to him, typing a quick ‘lol’ afterwards. At the very least, he might get a laugh out of it.

----

You finish eating in record time, scarfing down a portion and a half of curry. It was lonely, sitting in Hawks’ office by yourself. You wondered if he ever felt like that when he was up here on his own. He was too busy for most things, too fast for his own good. Did that include friendships? He made time for you when he could, but you understood the busy and demanding life of a hero...other people might not.

You...understood.

The dull ache that you’ve felt in your chest for the past year returns, suddenly. The sadness and grief, the emptiness and all-encompassing tiredness, the big overhanging question of ‘what’s even the point?’. The point of being a hero, the point of suffering for the people who love you and hate you and who don’t even know you.

“Shit,” you sigh, your head and shoulders hanging low, wing dragging against the floor.

Hawks had brightened your life up so much these last few months. He’d brought the smile back to your face, the joy back to flying. You missed him when he was gone, worried for him when he was off on missions, fuck, you even cooked him lunch of your day off just so you could spend time together.

You were head over heels for him, and so totally screwed.

----

Hawks doesn’t return home until late that night. Far past your usual bedtime, but you’re far too distressed to sleep. If you hadn’t had your earlier revelation, you’d have chalked it up to ‘being worried’. But now?

Now that you knew you had feelings for him, all your thoughts were clouded. You were concerned because you liked him. You hung out with him because you liked him. Everything was because you liked him!

It was fucking with you a bit.

“What are you still doing up?” his voice sounds from the front entryway, startling you bad enough that you almost fall off the couch.

Your wide eyes snap to him, immediately taking him in. He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure. His uniform is singed in places, and you’re pretty sure the scuff on his neck is a burn. Most notably are his wings. Or lack thereof. 

Featherless red nubs is a more accurate description.

“You look like shit,” you say, keeping the air about you casual.

He makes his way over to you and finds a seat on the couch adjacent, wincing as he sits a little too quickly.

“Thanks, chickadee. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Your face heats up. “I-I just mean! Long day?”

He groans, letting his head fall back against the cushions. You’re vaguely aware that he’s started talking, but the only thing you can pay attention to is the narrow column of his exposed throat, and how badly you wanted to lean over and press your lips against it.

You snap out of your daze when he nudges you with his foot.

“I feel like I’m talking to a wall,” you quips, devoid of any malice.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “what were you saying?”

“I was saying that we should hang out now that I’ve got a few days off. Kick our feet up, instead of culminating in a stuffy office.”

You shake your head. “As much as I’d love to, I still have work. Remember? I was already off today, I can’t miss more days.”

He whines, looking at you with sad puppy eyes. “It’ll be boring here by myself. You make the day more fun.”

“Hawks, I can’t-”

“Keigo.”

You perk up. “Huh?”

He rearranges himself on the couch so he can look at you more comfortably. “My name is Takami Keigo. Call me Keigo when it’s just us, okay?”

You consider it. “Why not Takami? That’s polite here, right? To use the surname?”

He nods. “Unless you’re close with the person. Family, good friends, the like.”

Your wings puff up, fully betraying the fact that you’re pleased he considers you a ‘good friend’. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and a teasing grin spreads across Haw-Keigo’s face.

“See? You waaaaant to. Say it with me: Kei-”

“Keigo.”

You don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge pink.

“You got it. And now, since we’re on a first name basis, I’m asking you to take a few days off to hang out with me.”

You’re exasperated.

“C’mon chickadee.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?”

“No!”

“Y/N…”

“No, Keigo.”

“Alright then. Now, as your boss, I’m officially giving you three days off.”

“You can’t just do that!”

“I can!”

“Hawks!”

“Keigo.”

“Sorry. Keigo!”

His expression is cheeky as you go back and forth for a while, and he’s unrelenting even as you gently beat him with a couch pillow.

It eventually morphs into a small war, the two of you chasing each other around the apartment, wielding whatever cushions you can get your hands on. You eventually end up tripping over the coffee table, shouting as you smack your foot and fall into an ungraceful heap on your back. Keigo wastes no time pouncing on you and pinning your arms beside your head.

Your wings are splayed out on either side of you, and he’s careful not to kneel on them. Even with your foot throbbing the way it is, he knows you could easily get away if you tried. But you don’t struggle. Instead you lay there quietly, out of breath, eyes locked on his. He can feel the warmth creeping up his neck, and you can see the redness returning to his cheeks.

“I...saw the article you sent to me today,” he begins, voice low. “I’m sorry they brought you into it.”

“I don’t mind,” you admit, “I just worry it might be detrimental to you. Some of your fans will be pissed.”

“Seriously?” He sits up on your chest, releasing your wrists. “You’re not online much, are you. Most of my fans ship us.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He laughs, soft of melodious. “It means that they like the idea of us. As a couple.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” you wonder.

“No? Why would it?”

You avert your gaze from him, your insecurities and doubts creeping in under the scrutiny of his golden eyes. “I...guess you could just...do better, is all.”

“Chickadee...Y/N, look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. You feel very exposed laid out on the carpet, and you wish you’d never said anything.

A warm hand cups your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your heart is beating rapidly against your ribcage, and you’re positive he can see your embarrassment when you finally do as he asks.

But he only smiles gently at you, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours.

“Listen to me, and listen well. You’re the best I can do. You bring out everything good in me, and make me forget the bad. You make me happy.”

“Keigo-”

He shushes you by bringing your lips together.

[syifrae]

Through his stomach

@winteriron-week

Day 3 “But I did it” 

Read on AO3

Tony had a secret admirer. Not only that, but he had the world’s best secret admirer because this secret admirer was seducing him via food.

It had started a few months back when Tony had returned from a particularly stressful day at work, fielding calls and actually attending meetings (I mean, he had to go to some otherwise Pepper would literally strangle him). Tony felt tired and hungry and his feet hurt and his head ached and there was just a general aura of blegh all around him.

He had just about managed to drag himself through a shower and into some comfy pants but the thought of having to make food was just overwhelming. He lay in his bed for what felt like hours arguing with himself about the pros and cons of getting up to make something. Of course, he could just order food but for some preternatural reason any time anyone was ordering takeout in the tower Clint found out. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but on occasion, it could result in heavy debating over what to order and half your food disappearing into the apparently bottomless void that was the archer’s stomach.

Right now, though, Tony just really wasn’t in the mood for any kind of human interaction. He loved his teammates, don’t get him wrong, they had become his pseudo-family and he would, at any time, lay down his life for any one of them, but right at this second, he couldn’t stand the thought of having to interact with them.

He knew it was a cruel thought to have, but on the one hand, he’d have to pull up a front that he was fine -which would take a hell of a lot of effort given the facial expression and body language skills of some of his teammates- or let them see how…blegh he was feeling. Neither option seemed appealing to him. One would drain him of all remaining energy and the other would result in (well-intentioned) questions about his mental and emotional state, which again would drain him of all remaining energy.

Just as he was thinking he could risk calling in for pizza and hope against hope that the resident vent mole wouldn’t notice, he heard the ding of the elevator. Tony sighed. How on earth had Clint known he was thinking about pizza? That shit was unnatural and vaguely disturbing.

Only he didn’t hear footsteps, instead, there was the familiar whirr of gears and excitable beeps from his favourite (but don’t tell the others) bot. Sure enough, his bedroom door was pushed open and in trundled DUM-E, carefully carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of something on it.

The smell wafted through the room as Tony scooched up the bed to accept the tray off of the bot.

“Uhh, J?” he began hoping his AI would know what he meant. How is DUM-E up here? Why does he have a bowl of what looks like soup with a side of charcuterie and garlic bread with him? Did DUM-E make it himself? If so, how? Was it safe to eat?

Luckily for him, he had the best AI in the world (if he does say so himself-which he does) and JARVIS somehow knows all his questions and answered them so succinctly.

“Someone who wishes to remain anonymous has prepared a dinner for you and asked DUM-E to deliver it as you appeared fatigued. It is a courgette and almond soup with garlic ciabatta and sourdough toast, assorted cured meats and a mango chutney. It has been safely prepared and monitored on it’s journey, and does not contain motor oil.”

Tony breathed in deeply at the exquisite smell coming from his dinner tray. This was the perfect ending to a low-grade-shitty day. Once everything JARVIS had said was fully registered in his mind he quirked his head in question.

“Someone who wishes to remain anonymous?” he mused, “Well, I mean it’s gotta be someone living in the tower, right? That narrows it down. Plus, it’s gotta be someone who can cook,” That thought leads him to an ever-diminishing list of suspects and he rather thinks he knows who it is.

Tony ducks his head, a dusting of pink colouring his cheeks at the thought. He digs into his gifted meal with gusto, suddenly it seemed like the weight of the day had simply rolled off of him, and he had regained some of his earlier energy. If the person who he thought it was wanted to stay in the shadows for now who was he to put a stop to it? Especially when it might cost him more nights like these with a delivery of home-cooked ambrosia.

And so it had continued.

Not only when Tony had had a bad day either, but almost every other day it seemed he had some new delivery of food. Be it a sandwich left by his elbow to remind him to eat during his workshop binge, a cooked meal when he had had a long day, a tray of cookies, cakes or brownies left on the counter in his penthouse, a selection of petit fours delivered to his office as it seemed just-because. And sometimes they even came with little post-it notes!

They weren’t much to go on, just little ‘thinking of you’s or ‘hope you enjoy’s or ‘looked like you needed this doll’s. With each delivery, Tony’s crush deepened until he was halfway in love with his ‘secret’ admirer, despite the fact that they both seemed to reluctant to acknowledge any of it in public or around the team.

However, Tony was only so patient- ask Pepper or Rhodey, it was a miracle he’d lasted this long in the first place- and he was now determined to… Well not exactly confront, that felt too aggressive a word to use, he was going to gently but firmly (very firmly) encourage his admirer to go on a real date with him. It felt like it might be a bit premature to declare his undying love and devotion to a man he wasn’t technically in a relationship with after all.

This idea however all came clattering down around him when he entered the kitchen at around three am exactly three months and four-day post initial food delivery. He hadn’t even realised anyone else was awake, he hadn’t meant to even be on this floor but JARVIS was a tattletale and would ping an email to Pepper if the coffee machine in his penthouse or workshop was used between 11 pm and 6 am.

It was just dumb luck.

Or unluck as the case may be. Because there in the kitchen, pulling a tray of very familiar looking and smelling chocolate orange and hazelnut cookies out of the oven, was Steve.

It was the wrong one. All this time Tony had believed that Bucky had been his admirer, his personal chef and his culinary hero. All this while, and if he was honest with himself for a long time before that, Tony had been slowly but surely falling in love with their resident one-armed-wonder, and given that he was 87% sure that that was who was making the food he was fairly confident that feeling had been mutual. To learn that all this time it had been the wrong supersoldier was devastating.

Tony felt like the bottom had dropped out of him and his heart had dried up all at once. Not only was he wildly, catastrophically wrong about who had been delivering him all these preciously prepared and lovingly made gifts, it also meant that he was wrong about Bucky reciprocating his feelings.

Not only that, but he now had to confront the idea that it was Steve, not Bucky, who cared for him and how the fuck was he supposed to let Captain America down? I mean yeah they had moved past their first meeting hiccup, gotten over their brief subsequent future hate/resentment/hero worship issues and had become the closest of friends. Or at least, that’s what Tony had assumed. And while his inner sixteen-year-old was very much still attracted to the pinnacle of human perfection, Tony just could not see Steve in that way. Objectively yes, he was handsome and kind, down-to-earth, generous to a fault and stubborn as a mule when it suited him, but to Tony that was just Steve.

Steve was great! Steve was an amazing friend! He’d be happy to talk up Steve as a wingman and be confident that nothing he would say would be a lie because Steve was just that awesome a person! But he was not attracted to Steve himself!

Continuing his approach to the kitchen Tony tried to mentally prepare what he was going to say. How he was going to gently thank Steve for his gifts but let him know that any feelings he had were purely platonic. He was mentally debating if he could get away with not telling Steve that he didn’t know it was him who had been the one behind the culinary delights. On the one hand, it would make him look like an utter dick for letting it go on this long without letting Steve know it was a doomed seduction. On the other hand, it seemed cruel to tell Steve that he was hoping that the man’s best friend (practically his brother) would go out with him instead. Knowing Steve, he’d be extremely supportive and then not show anyone how he was devastated and dying inside.

“Hey Steve, I didn’t realise you were up so late,” He began, coward that he was trying to put off the uncomfortable conversation that was to come.

Steve looked up from the sheet pan where he had been carefully inspecting the cookies, a look of surprise on his face showing that he’d been so concentrated on his task he hadn’t picked up on Tony’s approach. And wow, seeing how dedicated he was just made Tony feel worse about the whole thing.

“Oh, hi Tony,” the other man glanced down spying the coffee cup clutched in the inventor’s hands, “You know that cheating by getting your coffee down here only means that Pepper will be madder when I’m the one to tell her.” He teased.

And god did Tony feel like the world’s biggest tool again, even when Steve was being mean it was just because he cared. Why did it have to be the wrong supersoldier? Why was his life like this?

“Listen, Steve.” Bracing himself for what was coming Tony stepped further into the light of the kitchen, making sure to give the other man 100% of his attention, it was the least he deserved. “I think we need to talk. I am so grateful, really I am, for all that you have done. They were some of the finest and most delicious things I’ve ever tasted in my life, and that comes from a guy who regularly eats at Five Michelin Star restaurants. The deliveries have been a source of joy and comfort, they have never failed to lift my spirits and I have adored each and every one. I want you to know that I will always care very deeply for you,”

Steve had an odd look on his face as Tony tried his best to be brave and plough on, it wasn’t fair to let this go on any longer and he had to get it all off his chest in one go or else he’d put his foot in it.

“I don’t know that I could ever see you in that way. What I feel for you is more of a platonic bond, and a lifelong one at that, but there could never really be any romantic feelings on my part.”

Steve looked downright confused and embarrassed now.

“Uh, Tony that’s great?” He replied, head tilted in that lost puppy look he sometimes had when he couldn’t quite get his head around something. “I’m not entirely sure where all of that came from but uh, I love you too buddy.” Steve patted Tony on the shoulder, looking for all the world like Tony had lost his mind.

“Look Steve, the secret is out alright, I know those are the cookies you made me the other week. I can recognise them well enough, they are just about the tastiest goddamn things I’ve ever put in my mouth and I’ve dreamt of them twice since. I know it’s you who’s been making me food, and I just wanted to let you down eas-”

“But I did it.”

The voice came from behind, cutting through Tony’s very messy 'it’s not you, it’s me' speech, nearly scaring the life out of him and causing Tony to jump about three feet in the air and clutch at his chest as though that would slow the rapid staccato of his heart.

“Wha?” was all that the dumbstruck genius could eke out.

“I’m the one who’s been making you food, doll. It was me, not Stevie here.” Bucky replied from where he was stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

“But- he… I just saw Steve taking the cookies out of the oven? He was even checking them over to make sure they were right?” Tony blurted, head pinging over to Steve as he heard the man huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, cause Buck here hadda go pee and the last time he put me in charge of getting his shit out the oven I got a whooping because smooshed a cookie with the glove. I ain’t making that mistake twice.”

It took Tony a second for everything to sink in. He had a moment post reshuffle in his brain of who had done what that he was mistaken after all. It wasn’t the wrong supersoldier.

“So, wait. Does that mean that you’ve been my secret admirer? Not Steve?”

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky said, shifting his weight and loosely crossing his arms in front of him as if to protect himself. “You mean all that you said about it being good?”

Tony had never heard, nor expected to hear such uncertainty from the other man. Carefully making his way over to Bucky and making sure to telegraph his movements as he did so, Tony lifted his hand to cup Bucky’s cheek.

“I meant every word. And I’m so glad it was you.”

The smile that Tony could feel growing on his own face was mirrored back to him. Flickering his gaze between Bucky’s ocean eyes and his lips he slowly tilted forward, allowing Bucky to decide if he wanted to close the gap or not.

Tony’s heartbeat fluttered as he felt the soft press of lips against his. Something in his chest settling at the feeling of how right this all was. Steve on the other hand was apparently feeling indignant.

“Hey, wait a minute! How come I’m not good enough but this lug is?”

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 52

The further into forest they traveled, the older and larger the trees seemed to become. The naked branches of the deciduous slowly became less prevalent as coniferous took over and their path grew all the more dark. The forest floor was a mingled blanket of dried leaves, pine cones, and pine needles. As a result, the sound of the giants’ footsteps was accented by the crunching of the debris below.

It was far too easy to remember the fear,confusion, and hurt Nenani felt the last time she found herself in a forest, and those same feelings readily bubbled up to the surface. Though, there was no dead dragon floating in a river. Her mother was not there, but back in Vhasshal. Even with the solid presence of both Farris and Keral, she could not calm the worming anxiety in her brain. Though she did not expect a dragon to appear and attack them, there was still the deep fear that something was amiss.

“What’s wrong, lil’un?”

Farris’s question caught her off guard, having been too engrossed in her own thoughts to realize that her nervousness might have been perceptible. She had taken to watching the path behind them as Farris and Keral maneuvered through the trees, but when Farris broke the silence with his question, she gave a start.

“Nothing,” she answered, though the speed of her reply gave away the lie. “I’m fine.”

“Yer fidgetin’,” he pointed out, pinning her with a single expectant eye.

“…No I’m not,” Nenani protested, ducking down into the pack slightly. She did not want to try to explain her fears because she would first need to unravel them for herself, and in that moment she very much did not want to do that.

“Yes, ye are,” he pressed, and the same eye narrowed.

“This place is creepy,” she admitted, leaving all the rest unsaid. “I feel like we’re being watched.”

“Very well could be,” Keral commented. He was a pace or two ahead of Farris, having taken the lead, and pushed a branch out away from his face. The dry wood snapped in his hand and he tossed it away. “These woods are old. Older than the Blackwood certainly. Makes me think this might be Brennan’s estate. His family are big sportsmen. They love their hunting. Their ancestral home is supposed to be built on the last patch of ironwood left in all of Vhasshal. And I’d bet my left foot these are ironwoods.”

“What’s ironwood?” Haiyer asked, poking his head up from the folds of Keral’s pocket.

Keral looked down at the small face peeking up at him. “It’s a particular kind of tree. And since ye have a fairy friend, this might interest ye some. Thousands of years ago, all this land and most of the continent was ruled by elves.”

Jae rolled his eyes, propping his head in his hand and looking on in boredom. Keral either did not see or chose to ignore him and continued on with his story.

“Then there was some fightin’ between them and us big folk. Elves called us mountain men since we mostly lived up near the mountains in those days, but more and more we started moving into the valleys. The Elves didn’t like that and tried to drive us back. Skirmishes turned to battles and then to war.”

“There’s always a war in these old legends,” Jae muttered, picking at the bandage of his splinted arm that peeked out from his coat’s sleeve. “Why couldn’t they come up with something a little more original?”

Keral reached back over his shoulder, pressed his fingers onto the boy’s head and shoulders, and forced Jae back down into his pack. “Quiet. Yer interruptin’ my story.”

Jae popped back up, hair disheveled, and wore a fierce snarl, but was obediently silent as Keral continued.

“The elves allied themselves with the Fae,” Keral went on. “And the humans allied themselves with us. It weren’t just us that the Elves were pushin’ around. Humans got the short end of that particular stick too. So there was a war. Lasted a good hundred years they say. But somewhere along the line, someone got smart and began to plant ironwood saplings all across the land. Y’see, the Fae were the reason the Elves had the upper hand in the war. Without them, the Elves just didn’t have the numbers. But the thing with Fae creatures ye have to remember is that iron hurts ‘em.”

“Iron?” Nenani asked. “Why?”

“Just an old superstition,” Farris answered. “Though I suppose ye might be able to ask Ellis one day if it’s true.”

“And the Fae hate ironwood trees, because of the sap,” Keral said as he reached inside his coat and pulled a small knife from his belt. Stepping up to one of the larger trees, he sliced a long line across the bark. After only a few seconds, a thick dark red sap began to ooze from the wound. Keral wiped a finger across it, collecting the sap, and held his finger up with a grin. It was convincing enough that if Nenani had not seen him take the sap from the tree she would have believed it to be blood. He held the sap close so that Haiyer could get a good look. “Makes ‘em sick, ye see.”

The little boy reached out and poked his finger into the sticky glob. When he pulled it back out, a thin string of sap connected his finger and Keral’s. He waved his hand, trying to break the strand, but only managed to cover it in thin sticky tendrils. He stared at his hand in annoyance as though blaming it for the predicament.

“Well, ironwood trees take roughly a hundred years to mature,” Keral continued. “And suddenly the Fae weren’t as helpful in the war as before with so many of them all over the place. Couldn’t chop ‘em down fast enough. The tide turned in our favor and in the end we won. The elves sailed away across the sea to another continent and the land was divided between us and the humans.” He rapped his knuckles against the tree trunk. “Ironwood makes fer good for building lumber since it’s so sturdy. There ain’t a whole lot of ‘em around anymore, though. A good bit of the castle’s supports are ironwood.”

“All the wood in Warren’s office is made of it too,” Jae contributed, picking at his bandages again. He was playing with the idea of removing them completely. His arm didn’t hurt at all anymore, and between the weeks of healing and all the potions and tonics he had been forced to guzzle by both Maevis and Yaesha, he was more than confident his arm was finally mended. Enough to go without the splint, in any case.

From Keral’s pocket, Haiyer suddenly gagged and spat as he pulled a sap covered finger from his mouth. “Ugh–! Yuck!”

“Well don’t eat it!” the ranger exclaimed in exasperation. “Gods above, don’t go stickin’ weird shit in yer mouth ye lil’ git! Ye don’t know if it’s poisoned.”

Farris laughed and lightly slapped his brother’s shoulder. “It won’t hurt ‘em none. Ironwood sap ain’t poisonous. Just bitter as hell. Actually a useful antiseptic.”

“I know that, but I’m sure this one didn’t,” Keral shook his head as he regarded the little prince with a vexed eye. “Let that be a lesson to ye then. We keep our hands to ourselves and outta our mouths. Yeah?”

Haiyer nodded with a sullen expression, having been thoroughly rebuked. He stuck his tongue out and blew, as though it would help clear away the acrid taste. “Blegh.”

……………………………………….

Keral called for a rest and chose a clearing ringed by seven tall pine trees. Farris carefully slipped his pack off his shoulders, doing his best to not jostle Nenani too badly as he did so. Once she was on the ground, he placed the pack off to the side and sank down against the tree trunk, eyes closed. Though he had not complained at all during the day’s trek, Nenani could see the fatigue on his face. As though sensing her eyes on him, Farris opened one eye and quirked his eyebrow at her questioningly.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice soft.

He waved a hand at her. “S’just what happens when ye get older. Ye get tired.”

“You’re not old,” she assured him, which earned her a thin smile from the giant.

“Tell that to my feet,” he replied and closed his eye again.

“Told ye to take my spare boots,” Keral berated mildly from the other side of the clearing where he was helping Haiyer down from his pocket. “Yer kitchen slippers aren’t meant fer hikin’ cross the wilderness.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my boots,” Farris clapped back and then muttered under his breath in a salty grumble, “Hm. Kitchen slippers. Bah.”

A few steps away from Keral’s pack, Jae was stretching out his muscles. He bent himself in half to touch his naked toes and leaned one way and then the other to straighten out his back and sides. He pulled his leg up to stretch the calf, but when he placed it back onto the ground, he gave a sudden yelp when he stepped barefooted right onto a small pine cone.

Stifling a laugh, Keral began to rummage around in his pack, seeming to find whatever it was he was searching for. The ranger stood up, slipping something into his pocket, and then walked towards the edge of the clearing where he disappeared behind a cloister of trees. His voice called back at Jae jovially. “Careful there, lad. Lots ‘a pokey things out here.”

Jae glowered on after him. Keral was a far more convenient target for Jae’s irritation and all the more so for the fact that the ranger couldn’t see the rude gesture the boy threw in his direction.

Unlike Jae, Haiyer seemed perfectly fine with walking across the ground without any shoes, and the pine needles and leaves and cones did not seem to bother him one bit. Feeling just the slightest bit of jealousy, Jae went about clearing himself a spot on the ground. Once the debris had been carefully brushed away, Jae sat down with his blanket. He pulled his arms out from his coat and began to unravel the bandages of his splint. With his arm freed, he laid the messy ball of cloth and the two flat splints down beside him and slipped back into his coat. He wrapped himself back into his blanket and laid back onto the ground to stare up at the thick canopy above. The fading daylight was sparsely visible through the thicker branches of the evergreen’s needles and, if he squinted, he could almost believe he was looking up at the night’s sky full of stars.

Haiyer was ambling about and plucking up the stray pine cone or leaf, picking at it for a moment, and then discarding it once his interest had dissolved or been pulled on to the next object. Nenani followed Jae’s example and cleared herself a spot on the ground and took a seat. The day had maintained a steady chill, but as the light was beginning to fade she felt as though the warmth was beginning to fade in equal measure. Though, sitting nearer to Farris, she could feel the heat of his body, and with her wool dress and blanket, she was not cold save for face and nose. It was tolerable and did not bother her too much.

After a few minutes, Keral returned with several spindly branches tucked under his arm. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

“Thought we were just restin’,” Farris said, opening his eyes, and regarding his brother curiously. There was a slight edge to his tone, as though he suspected Keral might be pitying him and his sore feet.

“If it was just me, I’d be movin’ on,” he replied. “But with ye not being used to this and the little ones, I think it best we not push it. We’ll start a fire, have a bit of food and rest, then move on at first light.”

Having his suspicions confirmed, Farris snorted. “I ain’t a tenderfoot ye need to baby, Keral.”

“Be that as it may,” Keral replied, not rising to the taunt and in fact looking quite serious. “I don’t know these woods. Neither do ye. We have three children to keep alive and many more miles to cover before we’re anywhere familiar. So I’m playin’ it safe fer now.” His grim expression abruptly spun on its head and he grinned. “And besides, tenderfoot ye ain’t. But I’ll be bettin’ yer feet are tender enough.”

Farris grunted and rolled his shoulders. “Bah. Come off it.”

“I’ll get the fire goin’ and we’ll get some supper started,” Keral continued. Nenani perked up and, having spent most of the day trying to ignore her gnawing hunger, found the notion of food very appealing. Keral pulled out a sack from deep within his pack as well as a few parcels of waxed parchment. “Field rations ain’t anything like ye yer use to throwin’ together, but we’ll make do just fine.”

Mimicking his brother, Farris sat back up to rummage through his own pack. He pulled out a bundle of his own, wrapped in a dark blue tea towel, and sat it in his lap.

As he went about readying some kindling and wood for the fire, Keral eyed his brother curiously. 

“What’s that there?”

“Bread,” Farried answered. Nenani marveled at it, realizing she had been likely standing on it the entire day and had even slept on it, all the while never knowing it was just below her. Pulling a metal tin from his pack and giving it a once over with his eyes, Farris looked surprised but pleased. Setting it down beside him, he said, “Bit of pepper here.”

“Pepper,” Keral echoed in a flat, disbelieving voice. “Ye brought fuckin’ pepper?”

“And just what’s wrong with that?”

“Who the fuck packs pepper in an emergency?” Keral demanded.

“It was in my bag from a time before and I just grabbed it without emptyin’ it first,” Farris replied with only a slight hint of defensiveness. He realized perfectly how silly it may seem, but it was a welcome find for him as he knew the sort of field rations that rangers were provided with. They were condensed versions of the same ones doled out to soldiers on a march: salted meats, smoked fish, and a sack of potatoes. Simple and nutrient dense food to replenish the body after a day of physical exertion. Boring to Farris’s mind.

He worked with spices and bright bold flavors. The idea of eating plain potatoes without even a bit of salt or pepper was nearly insulting. Keral might find fault or humor in his supplies, but Farris was content with the happy accident and was pleased even further when he found another tin, bigger than the first.

“What other useless supplies have ye brought along? Come on, let’s have a look,” Keral said, his manner more jovial than incredulous now.

Farris popped the tin open. “Salt, rosemary, and…” he paused and held the tin closer to his nose. “Paprika.”

Keral rolled his eyes. “Yer lucky none of the lads are here. They’d have a good ol’ rouse with ye and yer damn spices.”

Farris sent his brother a challenging glare. “Yer lucky they ain’t here. I’d break each and everyone one ‘a their noses.”

Keral shrugged, relenting, and went about the task of getting a fire started.

Farris began to rise from his seat and said, “I’ll help ye get it goin’.”

“Don’t bother,” Keral replied. “I’ll handle the fire and then ye can handle makin’ the food. That way, if it’s shit, ye can’t blame me fer it.”

Farris glared at his brother, but relented the point with a shrug. “Suit yerself.”

Keral had not quite finished building the fire when Farris began to search the ground around  their clearing. At one point, he was lost from sight, but when he did return, he carried a wide flat rock that was slightly curved in the middle. Keral regarded his brother with a judgmental eye. “And just what do ye mean to do with that?”

“Cook on it, ye idiot,” Farris replied shortly. He placed the rock onto the ground near the fire pit, but took a few moments to clean it best he could with the hem of his coat. “I know how ye rangers cook yer food and ye might be fine with crunching on dirt and ash, but I ain’t.”

“Ye have yer spices,” Keral quipped with a grin. “And we have ours.”

Jae snorted a laugh. “Ranger’s famous dirt and ash potatoes. Yum.”

“Ah, a wee bit ‘a ash never hurt no one,” Keral replied, striking his flint and attempting to light the bundle of tinder.

“I can do that part,” Nenani offered, already rising to her feet. She stepped out from her blanket and walked closer to where Keral knelt. The ranger regarded her curiously for a moment before blinking in understanding.

“Ah,” he said. “Right. Yer a fire mage. Forgot about that fer a second.” He gestured to the firewood. “Have at it, lass.”

In moments, Nenani had the fire blazing, and Keral happily fed the rising flames more kindling until at last they had a proper campfire. Nenani returned to her blanket and nestled back down, basking in the additional light and warmth of the fire.

The flames crackled and moved within the stone ring. With the dying light, it cast elongated and strange shadows against the trees which Haiyer did not much care for. Jae had moved to sit closer to Nenani, but they were forced to make room when Haiyer pressed himself between them. They threw mildly irritated glances his way, but the boy was oblivious.. Now that he was suitably shielded from the scary shadows, he was content to watch the fire happily dancing.

As agreed, Keral released custody of the campfire to Farris as well as his field rations. The bag of potatoes was meant to last a single ranger a few days or up to a week if strict rationing was observed in addition to foraging or hunting. The addition of the salted pork and smoked fish meant that all together they could realistically make the supply last a few days. The children would not need nearly as much as their Vhasshalan guardians so their portions were not included into the calculations.

A fourth of the bread was cut from the loaf and the rest returned to Farris’s pack. Two handfuls of potatoes were placed onto the rock close to the fire where the flames would heat the rock and the potatoes, effectively roasting them. Once the food was cooked and adequately seasoned to Farris’s standards, each of the children had either one larger potato or two of the smaller ones, a sliver of salted pork or fish, and a piece of the bread. The giants shared the rest of the cooked potatoes and bread and a bit of smoked fish. The rest of the salted pork was returned to the pack.

The bread was a heartier dark rye and vastly different from the golden crusty loaves she was used to. It had a much stronger taste and rougher texture, but she was not going to complain. It went rather well with the smoked fish and she decided she rather liked it after all. The potatoes were speckled with salt and pepper and had a slight reddish tinge to them due to the addition of paprika. Haiyer’s mouth was stained red with it as the little boy munched happily on his food.

Nenani did feel a slight sting of guilt that she, Jae, and Haiyer were able to make a more bountiful dinner of the rations than either Farris or Keral, especially considering they were doing all of the walking. Jae seemed to have had a similar train of thought.

“You sure you guys shouldn’t have ours portions too?” he asked. “I mean, you are the ones carrying us around. You need it more then we do.”

“Lovely of ye to offer, lad,” Keral replied. “But it wouldn’t make any difference. Ye three don’t eat much at all. So eat up.”

“Besides,” Farris added. “There ain’t no chance in hell I’d let ye go hungry.”

Keral reached for the still hot rock and plucked up a few of the roasted and seasoned potatoes. He studied them with a critical eye, still seeming to find the addition of spices laughable. He popped them into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Alright,” Keral relented after a moment. He nodded to his brother. “Alright.”

Farris grinned at his brother knowingly. “Alright what?”

“Ye were right,” he said, reaching for more. “The spices help.”

Farris regarded his brother with a self-satisfied smirk.

Keral glared. “What? Ye waitin’ fer a medal?”

Farris shook his head, still grinning smugly, and took a bite from his bread. “Just enjoyin’ the moment is all.”

“Fer fuck sakes, Farris. It’s just some spiced potatoes, ye didn’t cure leprosy.”

.

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Reference stock by @null-entity

[gamblealifearchived1]

@madamkezzie submitted: [Mark] Betrayed by his own sister...

Poe had tried to stop her, but she refused to listen. Magica took his amulet, let herself get worked up. A single spell reflected back; Poe took the hit, turning into a Raven. Though she tried to give him back his Amulet, he had been scored, betrayed. With a caw, a bit of acting, he flew towards the broken window, and left. He didn’t need the Amulet for magic, having it flow through his veins, it merely strengthened him. He had become reliant though, so now, any spell would drain him.

But Poe had no choice. He flew, and flew, as far as he could, until his wings burned and exhaustion took him over. Poe had no choice but to land, in front of a large, white building with a large blue ‘W’ on it. He had no choice but to hope someone was inside.

Using whatever energy he had, Poe used the tiny bit of magic he could muster to turn himself back to normal. Green scale pale, eyes sunken in, Poe collapsed onto his hands and knees. Feathers flattened, beak open as he pants, Poe collapses onto the floor completely. He has no choice but to hope someone opens the door and finds him; even if he’s indebted for life, he’d deal with it, as long as he gets help.

@aflockoffeathers​

Another day of boring work, nothing too exciting happening aside from that. Honestly, Mark loves his company, but just staying in his office & trying to attend meetings & actually LISTEN to people, it was all just getting, well, blegh to him. Maybe he just needed a small vacation? Huh. Now that he thought about it, it didn't sound all too bad. & Besides, this could be the perfect time to use his vacation home!

Yeah, okay. He just needed to set a couple of weeks aside & let his secretary take charge while he was away. He trusted her, so everything should work out. 

Stopping his paper work, Mark pushes himself away from his desk. He exits his office with a wide grin, "Vacay time, party people ! " Just as quick as that phrase is uttered, he could hear cheers from his employees. "Not for YOU, for ME ! " & he's smirking as he hears various groans. "There we go~ " 

Now that he's got things sorted out, he makes his way outside, pausing only to get his phone out. Although, something else manages to catch his eye upon doing so, small frown tugging at his beak as he inches cautiously closer towards the fallen ——— person? 

                                         Weird. What exactly happened? 

Approaching the passed out duck, cerulean blue hues carefully look them over. They don't look contagious or anything, which is good. Because if they did, Mark REFUSED to touch them. Glancing around & seeing no one else looking their way, he sighs, putting his phone away before gently picking the stranger up. Which, was surprisingly easy to do. "Yeesh, guy, don't you eat anything ? " He tries to joke light heartedly while carrying him back to his car. "You're lucky I'm being generous & letting you stay with me, you ... " 

He pauses again upon placing them in the backseat of his car & making sure they were securely fastened. It was then when he actually takes a good look at them. " ... handsome stranger ... " Hand cups the duck's face, thumb stroking their skin & for a moment Mark forgets himself, freezing halfway at leaning barely inches from the stranger's face. Warmth spreading across his cheeks, he hastily pulls back & climbs into the driver's seat. 

                   "I swear, if you're pulling a trick or spell on me. I'm watching you."

[lousylark]

blue lace

(Part 8. Ready the previous part here, read the next part here (coming soon), check out chapter summaries and masterpost here (coming soon). Check my “blue lace” archive for chapters/updates. Enjoy! <3)  

Spring 8th. Early morning. The Goddess Spring.

Once a week, Minori wakes up extra early so she can pay a little visit to Dessie and Witchie.

She used to go midday after she finished her chores, but occasionally she’d get strange looks from other villagers who happened to see her scaling the lily pads in the Spring. After all, as far as she knows, Minori is the only one who can see the deities’ shared abode, so it must look rather odd indeed to see a farmer sitting on a giant lily pad talking to no one in particular.

So now she goes early in the morning to avoid as much awkwardness as possible. This particular morning begins like any other: she brings a basket packed with fruit, cheeses, and flowers, and finds Dessie and Witchie outside playfully squabbling and practicing their respective magics.

“Good morning, Minori!” Dessie chirps, seeing her approach. “How are you?”

Minori plops down on the giant lily pad. “Oh, I’m alright. How are you two?”

“Practicing,” Witchie replies. She snaps, and a frog appears in her hands, which she presents to Minori. “Look at my new trick!”

Minori giggles, taking the frog in her hands briefly before it disappears into a cloud of glitter-magic again. “How useful.” She turns to Dessie. “What about you? Any new tricks to show me?”

Dessie’s face falls a little. It’s unusual to see the tiny Harvest Goddess frown in such a way, so Minori is taken aback.

“I’m trying to practice controlling the weather,” she explains, crossing her arms over her chest. “I dunno if you noticed, but this winter got a little out of hand.”

Minori scoffs. “Yeah, just a little.” Seeing Dessie’s eyes flash with hurt, she adds, “But surely that isn’t totally your fault, Dessie.”

Witchie snaps her fingers. More frogs appear. One boldly hops into Minori’s lap, causing her to jump.

“The Harvest Goddess is supposed to maintain the balance of the weather,” Dessie explains. “I don’t make the weather, I just nudge it in the right direction.” She sighs, hanging her head. “But I had a really hard time pushing winter away this year. I don’t know why.”

“So we’ve been practicing making thunderstorms,” Witchie cuts in. With a rare bubbliness, she adds, “You wanna see?”

“Maybe not right at this moment,” Minori replies, smiling. “If you conjure a thunderstorm now, we’ll get rained on. Plus, I already watered my crops this morning.”

To stop Witchie from being too disappointed, Minori starts unpacking her little picnic basket. Dessie conjures a pink teapot from thin air while Witchie provides some black cups and saucers. Within moments, they’ve started their weekly girls’ brunch.

“So I heard you’re planning a White Day festival!” Dessie says, her mouth half-full of cheese. “That’s so cute! I wanna go.”

“A White Day festival? Blegh,” Witchie says. She takes a sip of tea. “That’s so mushy.”

Dessie frowns at her friend. “It’s not mushy! Plus, there’ll be lots of food.”

“Oh, well then count me in, too.” Witchie replies.

Minori grins. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be sure to add an extra two when Veronica takes attendance.”

“Why’re you making a White Day festival, anyway?” Witchie asks, munching on a bagel. “Doesn’t this town have enough festivals?”

Minori explains her role in the New Leaf competition to them, starting all the way back from the New Year’s Festival and working through the conquest with Elise, the incident with her wine shed, and the conception of the White Day festival.

“Wow,” Dessie breathes when she’s finished. “It’s been a busy week for you, huh?”

“Got that right,” she replies. Then, a thought occurs to her. “Hey, since you guys are divine beings and all, you wouldn’t happen to know what actually happened with my wine shed, right? I’m pretty sure it was just an animal that broke in, but Elise thinks it might’ve been, like, a person.”

“Definitely a person,” Witchie replies.

Dessie stares at her with wide eyes. “What! How do you know?”

Witchie shrugs. “Oh, I dunno. It’s just more spooky that way.”

“Oh, so you don’t actually know,” Dessie says, relieved. She turns to Minori. “Sorry, Nori — I might be divine, but I’m still working on the whole ‘omniscience’ thing.”

“Yeah, after all, she can barely control the weather,” Wichie teases. Dessie gives her a sour look in response.

Despite their light-heartedness, Minori just sighs. “That’s too bad. Elise sent over her locksmith, and that helped my peace of mind a little, but, like you said,” she says, looking toward Witchie, “it’s spooky.”

A crow caws somewhere in the distance, as if supporting Minori’s statement. She stares into her cup of tea. Could it really have been a person who destroyed her stock of orange wine? But who in Oak Tree Town despises her so much that they would do such a thing? Unless it wasn’t a move against her so much as it was a move to support Elise? If that’s the case, then it would have to be someone who really likes Elise.

She frowns — as terrible as it is, she can’t think of a single person in town who might like Elise enough to destroy her wine shed over it.

“Don’t worry, Nori,” Dessie replies, putting her hands on her hips. “We’ll keep a close eye out for any sketchy people.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” she says, suddenly. “Where are the Nature Sprites? I’ve got a job for them.”

“I’ll summon them. They’ll want some of the flour you brought, anyway.”

She whistles a four-note tune, sounding almost identical to a sparrow as she does so. Within moments, little sparkly puffs of air appear around them, each a different color of the rainbow. From them, the Nature Sprites emerge.

“Minori!” Pepita cries, scurrying toward her. “Hi hi!”

“Didja bring any flour?” Gusto asks. “I’m so hungry!”

Each sprite approaches her in turn, asking what feels like hundreds of questions: where she’s been, how the winter treated her, why is there a new patch in the knee of her jeans —

“Now, now,” Dessie begins, calming the flurrying sprites. “Minori has a job for you all. Perhaps if you do it well, she’ll give you some flour.”

“A job?” Flik asks, his curiosity piqued.

Minori nods. “Yeah. I need you guys to help me find something.”

Torque pushes her tiny glasses up further on her nose. “Like a scavenger hunt?”

“Uh, yeah, actually, kind of like that.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shivering just a little. Though the worst of the winter has passed, the early morning spring air is awfully chilly. “We’re looking for some of Mistel’s blueprints. Someone took them, but I’m hoping it was an accident or that they’re at least still in town.”

“Oooh, yay!” Pepita squeals. “I love scavenger hunts!”

“But we can’t read,” Torque points out sullenly. “How do we know when we’ve found the right blueprints?”

Minori purses her lips. Truthfully, she hadn’t really thought of that. For all of their magic powers, the Nature Sprites are illiterate when it comes to human languages.

“Well, it’ll look kind of like a grocery list,” she finally says, “with a picture drawn at the bottom that has really straight lines. And it’ll probably be written on fancy, thick paper.”

“And the reward?” Gusto asks.

Dessie tuts a bit. “Gusto, you can’t just —“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Minori says, smiling. “If one of you finds the blueprints, I’ll give you an extra-large bag of flour all to yourself.”

At the mention of the prize, the Nature Sprites completely lose it. They clamor over each other, Mora starts to drool, and Gusto immediately disappears into a puff of glitter with only the phrase, “I’m on it!”

Minori mouths the word “sorry” to Dessie, who just giggles at her.

“Hey,” Witchie says as the Nature Sprites bombard her with more questions, her mouth half-full of bagel, “You did this to yourself.”

“But at least now you’ll probably find those blueprints!” Dessie adds, gently corralling the sprites back toward her.

“Thanks, everyone,” Minori says, fixing her hair after having received some tugs from Pepita. As the sprites finally calm down, she starts again. “Alright. So what other questions can I answer?”

Elise’s Manor. Mid-Morning.

By the time Elise manages to drag her hungover self out of bed, the sun has risen fairly high into the sky. It’s at least three hours later than she would normally get up, but with the incessant pounding in her head and the dryness of her throat, she finds she doesn’t mind the late start.

When Jenny comes in to take her dirty laundry, she asks in a groggy voice, “And how is Madame this morning?”

Her servant just shrugs. “Her door is locked and I haven’t heard a word from her since last night.”

A tiny smile plays on Elise’s lips. “Well, no point trying to slip a coin from the dragon’s horde. We ought to let her rest.”

Jenny nods understandingly. “Yes, miss.”

Her eyes flicker to where minou snoozes in a patch of sunlight on the bed. The kitten looks terribly cute; despite the hanging memory of her drunk episode last night, she can’t bring herself to regret adopting the creature.

“Will she be staying in the house?” Jenny asks. “I can ask Gilbert to bring a litter box from the pet house.”

Elise hums. “Yes, that would be ideal.  Thank you, Jenny.”

And thus, the morning proceeds. Elise slinks down to the kitchen in her pajamas, sneaking past Cookie and grabbing a muffin to hold her over until lunch. She guzzles down two glasses of water whilst staring out the parlor window, thinking. Planning. Then, with a somewhat lazy resolution, she starts toward her office to finally get to work.

When she unlocks and opens the door, however, she finds none other than Nadi seated at her desk. Chaton slips through her legs into the room, stalking up to Nadi and rubbing against his legs.

“Ugh,” Nadi says, not even bothering with a greeting. “Cats.”

“Oh, hush,” Elise chides, walking toward him so she can scoop up the kitten. “She’s a darling creature.”

“I don’t like cat hair on my clothes,” he says, brushing off his pant leg.

“And I don’t like squatters in my office,” she counters, crossing to sit in her big leather chair. “How did you even get in here?”

He shrugs. “Jenny let me in.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Don’t blame her, though,” he continues, not looking up from what looks like a landscape draft. “I told her you had given me permission to get some parchment from in here.”

“Ah. Well, you have your paper,” she says, looking pointedly at the scroll he’s writing on. “So why do you remain?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t really moved my stuff back to the Inn yet. Plus, this room has the best natural lighting in the house.”

She can’t argue with him there. The office faces an ideal direction for reading, writing, drawing — any sort of activity for which one might prefer natural light to fluorescent. It had been one of the only things she’d liked about the mansion when she first moved here.

“I can leave, if you want,” he says, sighing. Finally looking up at her. She suddenly notices that he, too, is still in pajamas — though his hair is tied away from his face, a little differently than it usually is. Messier than usual.

She just shrugs. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t stay, if it helps you to work better — as long as you don’t disturb my work, seeing as this is indeed my office.”

He smirks. “Of course, your highness.”

A scowl tugs on the corner of her mouth. She vaguely remembers Nadi giving her that epitaph last night, too. While only some years ago she had dreamed of nothing more than marrying into a noble family, she finds her adulthood goals have changed rather drastically. The nickname is a sharp reminder of her own child-like foolishness.

Perhaps Nadi detects her sudden sourness, because his tone softens when he asks, “How are you feeling this morning?”

She opens a desk drawer. Scoffs. “You mean besides my raging hangover?”

“Besides that, yes.”

She sighs. Sinks back into her chair with a pair of scissors in hand. “Fine, I suppose.”

“Do you, uh, remember what happened last night?”

She looks up at him, but he’s still staring down at his landscape designs. Still, from the way his knuckles are lighter in color from clenching his pen so hard, she can tell he feels nervous asking the question. It’s funny, she thinks, a tiny smile wiling its way onto her lips. He asks the question like he’s a lovestruck man wondering if his partner remembers their drunken affair.

“Well, let’s see,” she says, folding her hands. “Are you asking if I remember Madame’s French temper tantrum, being threatened with the shard of a vase, or adopting a kitten?”

“You forgot throwing up on the floor.”

She glares at him. “You know, you’d be much more charming if you weren’t quite so blunt.”

He kicks his feet up and rests them on the corner of her desk. “And you say you’re self-aware.”

She rolls up a nearby piece of paper and swats his feet with it. “Not on my desk, thank you very much.”

Nadi grins but removes his feet from the desk, moving forward so that he’s leaning over his work again. Though she wouldn’t dare show it, she’s glad that he seems to have let the topic of last night go, for the time being. The episode isn’t exactly what she’d call one of her finest moments.

A soft mew comes from the window sill, and then minou has leapt up onto the desk, taking a particular interest in the bookmark tassel sticking out from one of her farming anthologies.

“So you’re keeping the cat?” Nadi asks.

“Kitten — and yes.” She moves a finger to try and tempt minou to play. “It would be terribly unfair to just return her to Agate. Besides,” she pauses, a smirk tugging at her lips, “Madame is allergic.”

He scoffs. “You’re asking for another fight.”

“Indeed,” she muses, trailing her finger on the edge of the desk for the kitten to bat at. “Perhaps if I pick enough fights, she’ll decide to stay at the Inn.”

“With me for company? I doubt it.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t dare expose you to such torture. If she were to move to the inn, you would continue staying here as my guest.”

He shrugs, but she doesn’t miss the blatant pleased surprise in his eyes. “I have to admit, the natural lighting is a lot better here.”

As if on cue, a beam of sunlight streams in from the window. The white-light lands on a strip of Nadi’s hair, making it glow like snow on a winter morning.

She shakes her head, scooping up her kitten and standing from the chair. “Come, minou. Let’s pick out a fabric for this dress.”

“Is that its name? Minou?” Nadi asks.

“You know, we did have an agreement that you could work here only if you were quiet.”

“I’m just trying to defend your kitten’s honor.”

She clicks her tongue. “Fair.” Keeping minou in one hand, she uses the other to open up her office closet, which has shelves upon shelves of fabric organized by color, material, and weight. “Minou isn’t really a name — it just means kitten in French.”

She doesn’t turn to look at him, but she can hear the smugness in his voice when he responds, “That’s not a name — that’s like if I called Minori farmer, or you self-righteous princess-wannabe.”

“Very funny.” She touches a few different breeds of silky red fabric, and then decides on the ruby tone, pulling the bolt out of the stack. “Why don’t you give her a name, then, if you’re such a master of epitaphs?”

She watches him shrug as she moves back toward the desk. “Whenever I’ve had pets, I name them after flowers.”

“How utterly predictable.” She sets the bolt of fabric — and minou — down on the surface, and then opens one of the long drawers to find a cutting mat.

They fall into an easy silence, Nadi suddenly taken with an aspect of his landscaping design and Elise gathering the supplies to start on Lillie’s dress. Every so often she looks up at minou and wonders about names. Everything she tries in her mind — Blossom, Princess, Victoria — none of the names fit, and she would hate to give the darling kitten an ill-fitting name.

As she starts to cut the fabric, she finally asks, “What flower would you name the kitten after, then?”

He doesn’t look up from his paper. “I dunno. I’m partial to roses.”

She pauses in her cutting. Smiles.

“Rose.” Looks toward minou, and tries the name again. “Rose. I like it.”

He raises an eyebrow. Stares at her, incredulous. “You do?”

She nods. “It has a double meaning — I drank far too much of the rosé that Minori brought to the party last night. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to adopting her.”

“Huh.” He raises his pen, as if in toast. “To rosé, then.”

“And to Rose,” she adds, putting down her scissors so that she can rub Rose’s soft little cheek.

Another lull as Nadi returns to his work, and Elise to her dress-making. The design that the girls made for Lillie’s modeling escapade is terribly simple, but, if she succeeds in making the dress correctly — which she no doubt will — it should achieve the goal of making Lillie look rather sumptuous for their humble fashion show. Hopefully, Raeger won’t be able to deny that she’s a catch.

She bites her tongue in guilt, remembering how Lillie’s fascination with Raeger wasn’t the only girlish crush to come to light the night before. Her revealing of Licorice’s feelings for Kamil had — thankfully — only ratcheted up the awkwardness in the room for just a few minutes. When Licorice had come out of the bathroom, she’d avoided eye contact with Elise, but she engaged in conversation with the other girls. Elise didn’t mind taking the brunt of her feelings — and if she’d felt a little bad about the ordeal, she’d drowned her feelings in rosé.

There’s a knock at the door. Elise stiffens.

“Yes?” she asks, careful not to reveal her slight spike in anxiety.

The wooden door opens. Jenny pops her head in. She barely manages to hold in a sigh of relief.

“Miss Elise,” Jenny starts, “Madame Dupont requests your presence in the parlor.”

Elise shakes her head, pretending to be preoccupied with her fabric cutting. “I’m rather busy. If Madame truly wishes to speak, she’s welcome to come here to my office.”

Jenny shifts from one foot to the other. “Um, she insists, Miss Elise.”

Her mouth curls into a wily smile. “As do I — and you may tell her so.”

Jenny nods her head, pursing her lips with a braveness that Elise recognizes all too well. “Insisting” anything to Madame is a task only for the stone-faced.

When the door closes, Nadi asks, “Should I leave?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” she replies, standing so that she can reach across the large desk to grab a ruler. “It will infuriate her that you’re here.”

“Which is exactly why I think I should leave, Elise —“

“Stay, or I’ll fire you.”

He looks like he’s got a biting response ready to fire, but the door to the office swings open with an aggressive creaking sound.

Madame stands in the doorway, terse, poised to pounce. She holds a large stack of papers blackened with typeface. Elise watches as her gaze moves from Rose to Nadi and then finally rests on herself, becoming more pointed.

“P’tite.” The greeting is neutral, except for her eyes, which reveal that she hasn’t forgotten last night’s humiliation.

“Madame,” she replies, setting down her scissors. “Whatever is so urgent that you insist on interrupting my important work?”

She sticks her nose up a little. “If it were truly so important, you wouldn’t still be in your nightwear.”

Elise grins. “It’s a Sunday morning and I have absolutely no plans. Do live a little, Madame.” She looks briefly down at her t-shirt and sweatpants and adds, “Also, in the twenty-first century we call these pajamas, not nightwear.”

Nadi snorts — and then covers it up as a cough. Elise sits back down in her desk chair, kicking him under the table as she does so.

“Pourquoi est-ce qu’il est encore là?” Madame asks without looking at Nadi.

“English please, Madame, or else little Rose here won’t be able to understand you,” she replies, scratching Rose’s chin.

Madame huffs. “I refuse to share the house with that beast for three seasons. You will return it from wherever it came from immediately.”

“Oh, but look at her darling little face,” she says, scooping up the kitten and standing from her desk. “Would you like to hold her?”

Madame’s nose crinkles. “Keep that thing away from me.”

“Gladly,” Elise murmurs, holding Rose against her a little tighter. “Now,” she starts again, mockingly bright, “I suppose you’re going to tell me about that loomingly large stack of papers there?”

Madame puts her weight on one side so that her hip juts out of her pencil skirt, making her upper half look like the Tower of Pisa. “Indeed.”

She strolls into the office and lumps the stack of papers right on top of Elise’s project. It’s at least two feet high, all on standard letter paper. The font is so small she has to squint to read it.

“I’ve decided to be merciful,” Madame begins, crossing her arms in a way that suggests she’s decided to be anything but. “If you’re so insistent on being allowed to participate in the board meetings, the least you could do is some clerical work. Complete these documents by sunset, and I’ll consider allowing you to attend our meeting tonight.”

Elise purses her lips. This is a test, and she knows it — the stack of papers is probably mostly busy work that Madame has concocted for the sole purpose of making her life miserable for a few hours. She’s testing Elise’s resolve.

“Very well,” she says, not uttering a single word about the impossibility of the task considering she also needs to finish Lillie’s dress. “But I request that you leave me alone for the afternoon so I can work.”

Madame’s lips curl into a smirk. “Gladly, p’tite.”

When she leaves the room, the door creaking shut behind her, Elise folds in on herself like a deflating balloon.

“Ouch,” Nadi says, seemingly reading her thoughts as his eyes move to the giant stack of documents. “Is this really worth it?”

“Oh, this is nothing,” she replies, kicking her feet up on her desk in precisely the way she had told Nadi not to do only minutes ago. “When I was thirteen, she locked me in the mansion cellar for a whole day because I wanted to eat pumpkin pie at the harvest festival the next day.” A pause, as she remembers the dampness of that cellar and wonders why she would reveal this particular vulnerability to Nadi. “She, um, said that the hunger I felt would make me appreciate the pie more, but looking back I guess it was a little much.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And your father just let that happen?”

She scoffs. “My father never knew, nor cared. My sister would’ve tried to fight her, I think, but she’d been tasked with giving a handsome ambassador from Silk Country a tour of the city that weekend.”

“What about your mother?”

For an instant, there’s a fire that flashes in her chest at the question. But she sucks a breath in and then forces it out until the flames go up in smoke.

“I need to get started on these documents.”

She removes her feet from the desk and stands to grab the stack of papers.

“But what about your dress?” Nadi asks — thankfully not pushing the topic of her mother again.

“Not my dress — Lillie’s.” She grazes the soft ruby-tone fabric with her fingers, frowning.

Nadi cocks his head to one side like a confused puppy. “Lillie? You mean the weather reporter? Raeger’s girlfriend?”

“They’re actually not dating, believe it or not — yet. Hence the dress.”

“I don’t understand.”

She blows out another big breath, exasperated. “Really, Nadi, you’ll need to be a little quicker if you want to work in this office. Obviously the dress is for Lillie to wear as my model in the fashion festival so that she can use her womanly wiles to win Raeger’s heart. Do keep up.”

Nadi’s brow furrows. “But isn’t the fashion contest in, like, two days?”

“Yes, which is precisely why I need to get started on these finances —“

“Why don’t you let me help?”

Now it’s her turn to look like a confused puppy. “You can sew?”

He barks out a laugh. “No, idiot. The treasury stuff.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, prepped to give a cutting response — but bites her tongue, deciding against it. Scanning the stack of papers again, and then looking down at Lillie’s dress, she realizes he’s right: she doesn’t have time to do both, and she doesn’t really want to choose between the two of them, either.

“Normally,” she begins, slowly, “I would be a fool to allow my landscaper to come within nine feet of important financial documents —“

“Ouch.”

“I’m not finished. However, I do seem to be in a bit of a pickle.” She pulls out one of her desk drawers. “You know how to operate a calculator?”

He rolls his eyes, to which she can’t help revealing a tiny smile. “Yes, Elise. Believe it or not, I had a really great maths tutor when I was growing up. And I do all my own financial work for landscaping, as you know.”

A spark in her eyes. She almost feels embarrassed at selling him so short — not that she’d ever tell him that. “Indeed, I suppose you do.” She covers her feelings by brusquely grabbing the calculator and holding it out to him across the desk. He doesn’t take it.

“Just answer me one thing,” he says, carefully.

“Questions about my mother are off-limits.”

“Yeah, I figured that out a while ago. It’s not about your mother.”

She eyes him carefully. Lowers the calculator. “Continue.”

“Why are you helping Lillie?” he asks, carefully. “You never help anyone.”

The observation should hurt, but it doesn’t. Coming from Nadi, who also isn’t the most socially blessed person in Oak Tree Town, the comment holds little sting. Instead, she sees genuine curiosity in his eyes — and perhaps a touch of pride, too, which for whatever reason makes her cheeks feel suddenly warm.

“I may be cold, but I’m not heartless,” she responds simply. “It’s beating somewhere in there.”

“Deep down,” Nadi agrees, but with a small, contagious smile that makes her stomach flop.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that,” she snaps, shoving the calculator toward him. “You’ve got a lot of work to do if you’re going to finish this clerical work by sunset.”

“We’ve got a lot of work to do.” He takes the calculator. “As soon as you’re done with the dress, you’re helping me.”

“We shall see.”

Nadi chuckles, and perhaps she smiles a little, too, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Watching him reach for the first paper on the stack, his question turns over in her mind: when did she start doing favors for others? And, perhaps more importantly, when did she start becoming a person others do favors for?

Mid-afternoon. Norchester; the Buchanan Estate.

The Buchanan Estate, with its spire-pointed iron gates and perfectly trimmed shrubbery, sits at the top of a hill in Norchester’s oldest quarter, overlooking dozens of other large mansions that dot the hillside. But none are quite so intricately beautiful in design — nor quite so simultaneously leering — as that of the Buchanan family.

Klaus fiddles with his tie as the limousine driver enters the code at the security gate. He hasn’t seen Todd Buchanan in person in several weeks, likely because he’s been so preoccupied with his campaign. Elections are in the fall, and he has two seasons to win over the majority of the district populace — many of whom are farmers and small town folks, much like the residents of Oak Tree Town.

In his own personal opinion, Buchanan’s superficiality and penchant for greed has no chance with his constituents when compared to his much more humble opponent — but seeing as Buchanan is his employer, he wouldn’t ever dare to say such a thing aloud, especially given his acute aversion to any and all counsel, however well-intended.

When they arrive at the front porch, Buchanan’s butler, a short, stout old man by the name of Baxter, stands at the steps holding two umbrellas: one for himself and the other, presumably, for Klaus. From what Klaus can tell, Baxter is a good and honest man, if a bit bumbling at times.  

The chauffeur opens Klaus’ door, and Baxter holds the second umbrella out for him. Shifting his briefcase to his other hand, he grabs the handle and stands from the car, tipping his hat to the chauffeur as he does so.

“Mr. Schulz,” Baxter greets over the symphony of rainfall. “How are you on this fine day?”

“A little damp, I must admit,” Klaus replies, following him up the long train of marble stairs leading to the estate. “And yourself?”

“Oh, chipper as always.” His bushy gray mustache quivers above his smile. “You’re in luck; Mr. Buchanan is in fine spirits today.”

“Is he?”

“Indeed. Not sure why, though.”

As they reach the mansion overhang, Klaus closes his umbrella. Baxter follows suit, wrapping his up and then reaching to open the door for Klaus.

The first time Klaus ever entered the Buchanan mansion — which must’ve been at least fifteen years ago now, he realizes with a slight pang of existential dread — he had been amazed at the majesty of the grand entry hall, with its two spiraling marble staircases and hallways leading off in every direction. A huge iron clock hangs from the wall in the center of the room; underneath it is a portrait of Buchanan’s family: himself in the middle, accompanied by his oldest daughter, Chloe, and of course Elise, who could’ve only been sixteen or seventeen when the photo was taken.

Many years ago, another portrait hung in its place — one where Mrs. Buchanan stood next to her husband, gazing adoringly in his eyes. But that particular painting had long since been taken down — and now, no traces of Elise’s mother remain in the house, as if she’d never existed in the first place.

Klaus can’t help his sadness every time he sees the new painting. Mrs. Buchanan used to decorate the entry hall with giant vases of flowers. Now, the marble floors are barren; the stairway railings are gleamingly clean but no garlands of white lilies adorn them. The hall smells like dusting spray rather than roses.

“Shall I accompany you to Mr. Buchanan’s office, Mr. Schulz?” Baxter asks like he does every visit, taking his coat to hang on the rack.

And, like every time, he responds, “No, that won’t be necessary — thank you, Baxter.”

Buchanan’s office is on the second floor of the mansion, nestled all the way at the back of the house so that it overlooks downtown Norchester. On most days, the office is host to a beautiful view of the city — of course, Klaus has always thought that it’s easy to think Norchester is beautiful when one looks at it from so far away. Being in the thick of it is another matter, but, to the current government’s credit, they’d come a long way in the last fifteen years preventing further crime in the marginalized and impoverished neighborhoods.

When he reaches Buchanan’s door, he sucks in a breath and then forces himself to release it slowly. Buchanan’s vampire-like countenance doesn’t scare him — not a lot scares him anymore, other than his nightmares. But there is a certain dark-Victorian-poet-meets-modern-technology quality to the office that makes Klaus want to spend as little time in there as possible.

Finally, he raises a hand to knock on the door. A moment passes, and then another. And then the unmistakable bass timbre of Todd’s voice from the other side of the door: “Come in.”

When Klaus opens the door, he’s surprised to find that the office has been completely redecorated — rather than being crammed with old oak bookshelves and looming portraits of old relatives, the space has been transformed to emit a much more minimalistic ambience. Gone are the plush red velvet armchairs, replaced with small, black leather stools surrounding a solid white coffee table.

Buchanan’s desk appears to be the only thing that remains the same — as well as the thick plum-colored curtains, saturated with dust, that frame the window at the south end of the room.

“You’ll pardon the dust, please, Klaus,” Buchanan says, folding his arms over his chest. “I recently had an associate over for tea and she was rather insistent that, given my current political state, my office décor be up-to-date.”

“No, it’s, er, very nice,” Klaus says. He can’t decide if he likes the barrenness of the new look any more than he liked the crypt-like qualities of the old one. “Very chic, I think.”

He smiles coolly. “Your pleasantries don’t fool me.” Gesturing to one of the blacks tools, he adds, “Sit.”

Klaus obeys, trying as hard as he can to perch comfortably on such an uncomfortable chair. He settles with keeping one foot on the ground and crossing the other over his knee.

Buchanan pulls a file out of one of his desk drawers. Klaus recognizes the handwriting in the upper-right corner of the manilla folder — Marian’s notes on his physical state, no doubt.

“So, is there anything of interest going on in Oak Tree Town?” Buchanan asks, hardly bothering to glance over the papers before splaying them out on his desk.

“I thought you’d know, sir,” Klaus replies casually. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Elise’s involvement in the Green Leaf competition?”

Buchanan’s tongue clicks. “Ah, but surely you know my daughter has no official involvement in that affair.”

Klaus hums. He’s known Buchanan long enough to understand that comment. Indeed, Minori won the conquest competition — but how much of that was orchestrated by Buchanan’s desire to keep his daughter out of the Green Leaf competition for his own political gain, he wonders?

“I may be mistaken,” Klaus starts, then, “but the town’s Business Mentor for the competition is Elise’s childhood nanny, yes?”

Buchanan, surprisingly enough, lets out an uncharacteristic snort. “Angélique, yes. I received an especially interesting phone call from her last night.” He smirks. “It seems my Elise has been giving her quite a lot of lip.”

“Respectfully, sir, Elise gives everyone quite a lot of lip,” he replies. A few years ago, he would’ve been afraid to let such a comment leave his mouth. But after so many meetings with Mr. Buchanan, the two have become quite candid with each other — or, as candid as someone like Todd Buchanan can be with his glorified freelance spy.

As he suspected, Buchanan finds this comment worthy of a curt grin. “As she learned from her father, no doubt.”

“Likely,” Klaus agrees.

“In case you’re wondering — which I have no doubt you are,” Buchanan begins, pointedly looking toward him, “it was not my choice to have Angélique installed as the Business Mentor for the town.”

“But it was your choice to install Minori as the agricultural representative.”

He shrugs. “Oh, I rather don’t care who took the title in the end, so long as it wasn’t my Elise.”

And thus Klaus’ suspicions are confirmed. The affirmation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he decides immediately that he won’t ever tell Minori. Not that he would break the confidentiality of these meetings to begin with, but in a theoretical world where he could tell her everything, he still wouldn’t tell her. He isn’t sure how she would react to knowing that Elise was forced to let her win.  

“Well, your marks are above average as usual, Klaus,” Todd says, replacing the contents of the manilla folder and sliding it back into his desk drawer. “I see no reason to keep you any longer than necessary on this dreary day.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow. Usually their meetings go a lot longer. He can’t help but feel like there’s something Buchanan —

“Unless…” he begins, stretching the word and its consequent pause like a piece of bubble gum.

— Ah. There it is.

“Unless?” he prompts.

Buchanan leans forward a bit so that his elbows rest on his desk, perched like a cat waiting to pounce.

“There is a more…delicate matter,” he says, his voice accessing that higher register that he sometimes uses when speaking of such ‘delicate’ matters — usually highly political and questionable in moral nature. “If you’re interested.”

“As long as it’s within my contract.”

He rubs one temple with two fingers. “While the Green Leaf competition is charming in its intentions, Oak Tree Town’s involvement is proving to be something of a wrinkle in my campaign plans. Even though Elise isn’t publicly involved in the competition, Angélique tells me that she wishes to have a private input in their little meetings.”

“Sounds like Elise,” Klaus says, careful to keep his face straight. He remembers Minori saying something about how Elise’s presence at the first meeting had actually been helpful, and not a hinderance, but he decides he’s better off keeping that from Buchanan.

“In any case,” Buchanan continues, removing his glasses and folding them. “If Oak Tree Town wins the competition, it will reflect badly on myself and the town: people will think my connection to Elise is interference, regardless of whether or not she’s publicly involved.” He removes a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “However, if the town comes in last, that would also reflect poorly on me — and on my daughter’s capabilities, as well.”

“What are you proposing, sir?”

“Straight to the point, as always,” Buchanan says, wiping his glasses with the handkerchief. “That’s what I like about you, Klaus — you’re not afraid of being candid. Amidst my war in the Great Game, it’s remarkably…” He takes a deep breath through the nose, then finishes with another cool smile, “Refreshing.”

Klaus decides not to point out that, in complimenting his behavior, Buchanan is once again dancing around the subject of conversation. It’s a game he used to enjoy, but now rather detests — unless, of course, the subject is coquettish in nature. But talking politics with Buchanan isn’t exactly what he might call flirtatious subject matter.

“Well, Klaus, I’m prepared to offer you a generous bonus,” Buchanan says, replacing his glasses on his nose, “if you find a way to have Oak Tree Town place between fourth and sixth in the competition.”

Klaus snorts. “Sir, you know I gave up sabotage long ago.”

“Oh, but my friend, it’s possible you might not have to do much at all,” he says. Brushes a nonexistent bit of dust from his desk. “Tell me: how competent is the Agricultural Representative?”

“Minori? She’s, er…” he struggles to find the right word. If he tells Buchanan his honest opinion — which would be that, given her simultaneous stubborn tenacity and social charm, Minori will likely leave her opponents in the dust — he risks making her specifically out to be a threat to Buchanan. But if he undersells her, he does a disservice to her talents. “She’s, er, capable.”

“Capable, you say?” Buchanan rubs his beard, one corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Do you know her well?”

“Well, I would consider us acquaintances, surely,” Klaus replies. “Perhaps friends.”

“And is she pretty, too?”

“Sir?”

Buchanan raises a newspaper that’s sitting on his desk just enough so that Klaus can see the cover page — the headline reads, Green Leaf Ag-Reps Announced! In the top left corner in tacky font is a column labeled, “ones to watch” — with a candid photo of Minori plastered in the number one spot, beaming as she accepts the blue ribbon at some contest.

Buchanan tosses the paper toward Klaus, who fumbles only slightly before catching it in both hands. He doesn’t have to even glance at the article to know what it says — that Minori far out-ranks his description of “capable.”

“I thought,” Buchanan begins, his voice low, “I was doing myself a favor by denying my daughter entry in the contest. But it turns out I’ve put a far worse beast in her place — a girl who genuinely wants to do ‘good.’” He rolls his eyes. “Do you know how hard it is to buy over those kinds of girls with money or fame?”

“I can only imagine,” Klaus says dryly.

“Thus, my friend, here is my proposal,” Buchanan begins again, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “There’s two ways you can go about this: first, you sabotage the Oak Tree Town team’s efforts just enough for them to come in, at the very maximum, fourth out of tenth place — it’s possible, indeed, that you won’t have to do any sabotaging at all, should this Minori prove a disappointment.”

Klaus frowns disapprovingly. “You know I swore off sabotage a long time ago, Buchanan. I already said I didn’t want to breach my contract.”

“Consider the second choice, then.” He signals for Klaus to return the newspaper, which he does — standing to pass it to him instead of throwing it across the desk. “You court this Minori Awald until she’s so enamored with you that she can’t help but focus on you rather than the competition.”

At this, Klaus can’t help but let out a snort. “Oh, I think you’ll find it would take a lot more than the likes of me to distract Minori from something she’s got her heart so set on.”

“But who can resist a tall and brooding man such as yourself, my dear boy?”

“She’s good at multitasking.” He uncrosses his legs, thinking. “Perhaps the plan backfires. What if she not only wins the competition, but she falls for me in my efforts to court her, as well?” As the words leave his lips, his chest feels warm — a lovely, though fantastical, scenario that would be, indeed. “What would you do then?”

Buchanan smirks. Klaus’ stomach drops. He has a feeling he doesn’t want to hear what’s next.

“Well, I was rather hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I had Baxter read up on Miss Awald’s background — she has a degree in design from L’Universitaire de Beauchamp, does she not?”

Klaus frowns. “She does.”

“You know, Angélique has some very famous fashion designers in her circle who are looking for new assistants,” Buchanan says casually. He turns his chair just a little more toward the window, so that a quarter of his face is hidden in shadow. “It would be so unfortunate if she were to receive a job offer that begins before the end of the competition — wouldn’t it? Then she’d have to choose between a tiny town in the middle of nowhere and her lifelong dream of being a big-time designer.”

Klaus purses his lips. “Tough choice,” he says, with a hint of bitterness.

“And then this whole town, who seems to rather adore her from what Baxter gathered,” Buchanan continues, “would resent her for disqualifying them from the competition by leaving. Wouldn’t that be a pity?”

There’s a rather interesting spot in the new area rug, Klaus finds, where the pattern seems to have a flaw in it. He tries to focus on that for a moment, ignoring the way he’s gritting his teeth so hard his head might explode.

Buchanan sighs. “The choice is rather simple, Klaus. Find a way to ensure that Oak Tree Town places fourth at the very highest, or I’ll draw Minori Awald away and disqualify them from the competition altogether.” He turns his chair away from the window. “What’s your choice?”

A long pause. The seconds seem to stretch out before him as he considers his options. Would it be kinder, he wonders, to give Minori the option to accept a position as a fashion designer, to give her the option of abandoning Oak Tree Town in favor of her “lifelong dream,” as Buchanan calls it?

But then he remembers their conversation only yesterday — about how she was unsure if she truly ever wanted to leave Oak Tree Town, or if she even wanted to be a fashion designer, or what her future held. Is it wrong for him to not give her the option, or is he saving her the struggle of making such a monumental decision when she is on the cusp of what is sure to be a very important two months of her life?

And what about Elise’s involvement, and the rest of the town’s investment in the competition? Is it fair of him to make the decision for them?

He sighs. He needs to buy himself time. He also needs to talk to Marian about it — the only person with whom he ever considers breaking his confidentiality clause. Only one of the two options Buchanan has given him will buy him any guaranteed amount of time.

“I’ll do it myself, on one condition,” Klaus says, keeping his tone even so as not to betray his intentions.

“Which is?”

“You allow them to place third — not fourth,” Klaus replies. “They deserve a spot on the podium, at the very least.”

Buchanan’s mouth curves into a wily smile.

“Fair enough. I’ll cede that point. Anything else?”

He’s about to deny the question — but then a thought occurs to him.

“Actually, yes,” Klaus says. “I need a cotton candy machine.”

Buchanan’s gaze flickers. Klaus can only see the confusion in his eyes after years of practice. “A…cotton candy machine?”

“By tomorrow, yes. Delivered to Oak Tree Town. Specifically one that looks like it might belong in a 1950’s ice cream social — you know, vintage style.”

Buchanan looks like he might ask questions, but then decides better of it, resting his forehead in his hand with a resigned sigh. “Very well, Klaus. I’ll have Baxter look into it today. Do we have an agreement?”

Klaus nods. “We do.”

They shake hands, and the gears in his mind are already turning.

Oak Tree Town; Trade Depot. Early Evening.  

“You know, I don’t understand why you wore that big heavy coat when it’s finally gotten warm outside.” Lillie stares at her with a suspicious gaze. “Wait…where’d you even get that coat, anyway? I don’t recognize it.”

The Trade Depot bustles with activity. It hasn’t been this busy so close to closing time in weeks — Minori would know, since she comes here usually twice a day, once when the vendors open to stock up on what she needs before the stock runs out and once near closing time to sell all she’s ready to part with. Now that the weather has finally warmed up, she figures that a lot more people are willing to make the hike even though the sun is close to setting.

“Minori?”

“Huh? Oh, the jacket.” She shoves her hands into the pockets defensively. “I’ve had this forever.” Lies. It’s Klaus’ jacket. “I just haven’t worn it this winter.”

Lillie isn’t fooled. Her suspicious stare grows into a big, goofy grin. “Uh huh. Did you buy it when you were two feet taller?” she asks, gesturing to how the hem of the coat brushes against her calves.

“Something like that,” Minori replies, and if she blushes she hides it in the woolen collar of the jacket. “Now come on — you’re only allowed to help me sell stuff if you aren’t gonna ask me weird questions about my wardrobe choices.”

Lillie grins. “What, so you can drag me into being the model for Elise’s fashion show, but I can’t tease you about this jacket that you definitely stole from Klaus?”

“Exactly. And it was borrowed, not stolen, I’ll have you know.”

They’re all giggles as Lillie starts to help unload Minori’s wagon next to Marielle’s stall — and Minori is glad. She was a little worried that after the girl’s gathering the night before Lillie would be feeling nervous, or even betrayed. But if anything, she seems to be looking forward to the fashion festival.

She has to hand it to Elise — it’s a pretty solid plan. There aren’t a lot of ways it can go wrong, even if it doesn’t go right.

“I wonder how Elise is getting on with the dress,” Lillie muses then, setting several bottles of milk down on the ground.

“Hopefully pretty well, though I’m sure she had a rotten hangover this morning,” Minori replies, grinning. “I can’t believe she agreed to take that kitten home.”

“And that she drank so much rosé!” Lillie agrees. “We should’ve invited her sooner.”

“We’ll make up for it — we could make her throw the next get-together, actually. If the eclairs from last night were any indication, I’m sure she’d supply lovely snacks.”

As Minori is dragging some bolts of fabric from the wagon, Lillie says, “Oh, but isn’t that creepy  French lady staying with her? I’d hate to have a party with her watching over us.”

“Ugh. True.”

At that moment, Marielle starts to make her way over. She, too, has followed Lillie’s lead and dropped her heavy fur coats for a more Spring-ish outfit, complete with a straw hat.

“Small load today, Nor,” she comments, observing the wagon. “The farm doing okay? You need any discounts on feed?”

Minori giggles. “No, I’m good — but thank you, Marielle. I’m building my stockpile back up after the conquest with Elise.”

“Oh, ‘course. My bad.” She pulls out her purse and starts to count up some bills. “You know, we’re all really glad you won that. You’ll let us know if there’s anything you need, won’t ya?”

Minori takes the money, pulling out her wallet to organize the change. “Definitely. Thanks Marielle, you’re a gem.”

Marielle winks before turning away, her blue eyes dazzling in the setting sun. “My pleasure, love.”

Just as she’s about to put away her wallet, Lillie grips her arm.

“Ooh, Minori, what is that?” She squeaks, pointing at —

— pointing at none other than the tiny portrait Klaus had drawn of her yesterday, which she had forgotten to take out of her wallet and hide in her nightstand drawer, as intended.

“Oh, uh, just a self-portrait,” she replies, hurriedly zipping up the wallet and stuffing it back in the oversized pocket of Klaus’ coat.

Lillie crosses her arms over her chest. “Nori.”

“Lillie?”

“Why are you so intent on hiding stuff from me?” she asks, still gripping her arm. “We’re best friends. I told you about Raeger!”

“Look, Lillie, if there were anything to say about Klaus, I’d tell you.”

“Ha!” She points a finger at Minori’s face, grinning. “So it does have to do with Klaus! Did he draw it? Ohmigoddess, how romantic!” She puts a hand against her own cheek. “I’m blushing! I’m literally blushing, Nori.”

Minori just shakes her head, grabbing the handle of her red wagon again. “Fine, Lil. Klaus stopped by for a chat in the West Town Park yesterday and he drew a little picture of me while we were talking. But that’s it, I swear.”

Lillie grabs the handle and helps her pull. There really isn’t enough room for two hands, but Minori appreciates the sweetness of the gesture nonetheless.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Lillie cries. “Nori, you do realize —“

“Keep your voice down!”

“Sorry.” Quieter, so that not every person in the Trade Depot can easily listen in on their conversation, Lillie continues, “You do realize that for him to draw a picture of you, he had to stare at your face for, what, ten minutes? Twenty?”

“Half an hour,” she admits, digging the toe of her boot into the cobblestone.

“Goddess,” Lillie breathes. “Nori, he’s into you. There’s no way he isn’t.”

Just in front of the welcome desk of the Depot, Minori pulls the wagon to a stop. “Well it doesn’t matter how he feels about me, ‘cause I don’t feel anything for him.”

Lillie smiles. “Liar.”

But Minori doesn’t let up. She keeps her gaze even. So even, in fact, that Lillie’s face falls a little.

“Wait, really?” she asks, her voice lower in pitch. “I could have sworn —“

She sighs. “He’s got a lot of secrets, Lillie. It’s complicated. And with Iris —“

“Iris wouldn’t care, and you know that,” Lillie objects. “She’s not like that. Besides, didn’t you notice the way she was looking at Agate last night? She’s way over Klaus.”

“I know she isn’t, but —“ she cuts off abruptly. “Wait, what? Iris and Agate?”

Lillie looks at her strangely. “I mean — what, do you think I’m wrong?”

Minori tries to remember to the night before. Sure, they were cuddling on the sofa, and Iris kissed Agate’s forehead a few times, and they went downstairs together once or twice, and Iris’ eyes sort of went soft whenever she looked at Agate, like she was looking at the moon —

“Oh,” she breathes. “Wow. You’re so right. How did I not notice? We even had a whole conversation together after you all left!”

“Probably because you drank all that pinot noir,” Lillie teases, bumping her shoulder.

“I had, like, two glasses.”

“Okay, Nori, I counted, like, four, but if that’s the story you wanna tell —“

Their banter is interrupted by a loud call from her left.

“Minori!”

She turns toward the voice — it’s Kenneth, who’s waving her down from his stall. She looks from Kenneth, to Lillie, and then back again.

“Well, go on,” Lillie says, waving her away. “I’ve gotta get home so I can help dad with dinner anyway. But I’m not letting the Klaus thing go — okay?”

Minori grins. Backstepping toward Kenneth’s stall — and taking the wagon with her — she replies, “Wouldn’t dream of letting you forget, Lillie.”

She waves as she leaves. “See you tomorrow!”

“No doubt!” she says, returning the gesture.

Kenneth’s stall is furthest from the Trade Depot entrance, so it’s a bit of a jaunt to get there with the wagon. She probably should’ve brought her horse, she thinks, but she was so eager to finally get some travel on foot now that most of the snow has melted.

“Hi Kenneth,” she greets when she arrives, just a tad breathless from dragging the wagon with her.

“You’re so bundled up underneath all that jacket I almost didn’t recognize you,” Kenneth says, smiling widely. “Why’re you wearing that when the weather’s so nice?”

“Sentimental value, and it smells nice,” she replies. Quickly to cover her candor, she continues, “Um, anyway. Sorry. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m in a pickle,” he starts. “My wife’s and my anniversary is coming up next week, and I’d really like to get her this all-natural vanilla-scented perfume she likes to wear, but the farmer I usually get it from passed on recently.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “How horrible.”

“Indeed,” Kenneth says, taking off his hat. “I was wondering if you sell any perfume at your farm? I’d be willing to part with a whole lot of lumber for it.”

She purses her lips. “No, I don’t. I’m —“ She pauses. Mind racing. “Wait. Uh, how much lumber are we talking?”

“Uh, probably eighty logs or so?”

She lets out a long whistle. That would certainly be a huge help in upgrading the safari.

“Okay, Kenneth. We’ve got a perfumist here in town — I’ll touch base with him tonight and see what I can do.” She takes out the mini notepad and pencil she keeps on her for reminders and to-do lists. “When’s the absolute latest I can get you the perfume?”

“A week from today.”

“And you want it all-natural, totally organic?”

“Yep,” he replies. “And just vanilla. None of that fancy flowery stuff.”

She flips the notepad shut and shoves it in her pocket. “Perfect. I’ll figure it out, okay?”

Kenneth beams. “Thanks, Minori. You’re a real lifesaver.”

“No problem!”

As she starts to lug her red wagon to the exit of the Trade Depot, she can’t help smiling just a bit. As much as she was being honest with Lillie — that she really shouldn’t have feelings for Klaus, given his penchant for taking mysterious inexplicable trips to the city — there’s a small part of her that is happy to have an excuse to see him again.

Norchester; The Angèle Hotel; Night.

By the time Klaus returns from the rest of his errands in Norchester, the sun has sunk well below the horizon line. As his taxi pulls up next to the hotel, he can’t help but sigh in relief.

He tips the driver generously, says a quick word of thanks, and then ducks out of the car. A bellhop is already grabbing his bags from the trunk; he nods his thanks and hands them a small tip, as well.

He makes his way into the lobby, pulling out the key access card that sits in the furthest back pocket of his wallet. The little light above the automatic sliding door turns green, granting him entry.

Karen, the night-shift worker, stands behind the desk. When she sees him, her cherry-painted lips part to reveal a perfect white smile. Karen only started working at the hotel two years ago — two years, he realizes with dread; he’s getting old — but he’s always thought she’d be better suited to a more adventurous job.

“And so he returns,” she says, lounging over the counter in a sultry way he’s more than used to by now. “My dark and handsome Silver Suite chevalier. I was starting to wonder if you’d ever grace us with your presence again.”

He smiles, not quite flattered by her flirtatious remarks — mostly just amused. Karen has always been forthcoming in her desires — perhaps too much so for his tastes, if he could be cited as having any specific tastes to begin with.

“I’ve been doing mostly day trips the past couple weeks,” he replies, handing her his access card.

She scans it into the system, as is protocol. With shining eyes, she asks, “No top-secret missions to warrant an overnight stay?”

He scoffs. “Not lately, no.”

Returning the card, she says, “How disappointing. If only you’d come around just three weeks ago; I’d just about worked up the courage to sneak up to your room and propose some midnight lovemaking.”

He clears his throat. “Ah.”

But Karen just giggles. “Oh, don’t look so worried, love. I’ve started seeing someone — you know Angie, the day receptionist?”

“I thought Yolanda was the day receptionist?”

She shook her head. “Retired a few weeks ago, thank goodness, else I’d never have met Ange. She’s a sweetheart — and blonde.” Flipping her long brown ponytail over her shoulder, she continues, “Always wished I were blonde, but I’m alright dating one, too.” With a bit of a softer look in her eyes, she adds, “Ange is gorgeous, and sweeter than anything. I’m really lucky.”

Klaus smiles — genuinely, this time. “I’m happy for you, Karen.”

She sighs, leaning back in the black leather chair that’s far too big for her thin frame. “Yeah, yeah, don’t tell anybody I got starry-eyed, though. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Of course,” he replies.

The bellhop has long since sent his bags up to the thirtieth floor — they all know where Klaus lives. It’s not like the silver suite ever gets rented to anyone else.

“Well, I’ll let you go,” Karen says finally, smiling at him. “But just because I’m with Ange now doesn’t mean I’m not still dying to know all your dark secrets. Do ring the phone if you feel like sharing, okay?” She leans back even further into the chair, blowing air through her lips like a horse. “Gets boring down here ‘round one AM.”

“Well, I suppose one secret can’t hurt.”

“What, really?”

Leaning closer to her, he says in a low voice, “During the day, I’m a perfumist in a tiny town not too far from here.”

She scoffs. “Ugh. Quit lying.”

He shrugs, smiling good-naturedly at her but starting to collect his wallet from the counter. “I only ever tell the truth, Karen.”

“Only ever tell the truth my ass,” she replies as he starts walking away.  “Sleep well, Bruce Wayne.”

He chuckles. “Have a good shift, Karen.”

The elevator up to the thirtieth floor is made of glass. Just like Buchanan’s office, there’s a built-in window all the way up so that one can overlook the entirety of Norchester as they make the climb. Klaus wonders if Buchanan considered this when he was approving the designs of the hotel or if it was pure coincidence.

The ride takes about a minute, accompanied by soft jazz music. Klaus sighs. As physically tired as he is, he rather loathes the idea of going to sleep. The apartment always feels so empty when he arrives, which just makes his nightmares worse.

The elevator dings, signaling that he’s arrived. He grabs his briefcase and exits into the hallway.

The silver suite is the only suite on the thirtieth floor. It’s not the best suite in the hotel — there’s still five more floors of single suites — but it’s certainly lightyears nicer than anything he could have imagined himself staying in when he was a child. Sometimes he’s still astonished at the grandeur of it all when he walks in the lobby of the hotel.

“Alright,” he says to himself, pulling out his card again. The door clicks unlocked as he holds it up next to the card reader.

Sure enough, the apartment feels as cold as it always does. His little suitcase is just inside the entry. There’s a sticky note from the cleaning staff accompanied by two chocolates on the kitchen bar to his left; he pockets the chocolates and lays a twenty dollar bill next to the note, as he always does.

The air conditioner hums, the surfaces are spotless, the curtains are open to reveal the shining city of Norchester. Everything is as it always is — except —

— except for the landline phone on the coffee table. The answering machine light is blinking green at him.

He raises an eyebrow. Breathes to himself, “What?” Sets down his briefcase, moves toward the phone. No one has ever left a message before. He’s pretty sure the only people who have the number are Buchanan, himself, and Marian — and Marian would certainly call him on his cell phone before calling him here.

Half-cautiously and half-eagerly, he picks up the telephone and holds it to his ear.

“Please enter voicemail password.”

He stops. Checks the little piece of paper taped to the answering machine for a voicemail password. Nothing there.

Sighs. Punches in the numbers: 3-4-7-8. Buchanan’s security gate number.

It works.

“You have one new message.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end. Klaus holds the phone closer to his ear, barely breathing as he waits with anticipation to hear who somehow got a hold of this number.

Then:

“Hi, Klaus! It’s Minori. Minori Awald. You know. From Oak Tree Town.”

He smiles. He does indeed know Minori Awald from Oak Tree Town.

“Uh, I tried stopping by your house but you weren’t there — but Marian was on a round nearby and gave me this number to call you at. Sorry if I’m intruding. I know you’re in the city — and you’re probably coming back tomorrow, so I don’t know why I didn’t just wait until then to tell you, but, whatever, here I am.”

His knees feel a little shaky, so he decides to sit on the couch behind him. There’s a warmth blossoming in his chest that he doesn’t even try to withhold.

“Anyway, okay, so I’m just calling because one of the Trade Depot vendors needs some vanilla perfume — and I was wondering if maybe you could help me with that? We can talk about it in more detail when you get back, but I thought, like, I’d give you a heads up in case you need to buy some supplies while you’re in the city.”

A good call, he thinks — he’s out of vanilla extract, but he’ll be able to pick some up before his return to Oak Tree Town the next day.

“Well, um, anyway. I started thinking about what I might put in my White Day picnic basket — if you find me a cotton candy machine, I guess I could be persuaded to throw some bouillabaisse into the mix.”

His stomach growls at the thought. Minori made him bouillabaisse once, for his birthday the year before. It had been absolutely delicious, but he hasn’t dared to ask her for some again out of fear of seeming desperate.

“Well yep. That’s, um, that’s everything! I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully, unless you get back late — then maybe not, because I go to sleep, like, super early. Who’s the old geezer now? Anyway. Yup. Well, bye!”

The line clicks.

“End of new message. To delete this message, press seven. To hear this message again, press star.”

And despite what transpired in his meeting with Buchanan earlier in the day, despite the gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that falling further for Minori Awald will only lead to complications — he presses star.

[funky-club-penguin-music]

Hey rat lovers~

February 11th, 2020. Almost 3 am EST which meansss.... oumami week day 2 suckahs!!

This one is probably my favorite and will be my longest piece of the week. For a little context, I picked soulmate au AND talent swap for this one! It goes as follows:

AU - whatever you write on your skin shows up on your soulmate’s skin

Rantaro - child caregiver 

Kaede - nurse

Kokichi - chef (not implied or stated, grr)

Anyway, I feel like i left it unfinished, so maybe for day 7 I could do the free day and add onto it? I’d really be into doing that, but I dunno. whatever I do, I know that I should totally continue this at some point!

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Day 2: Soulmate / Talent Swap

Words: 1430 (mmmm)

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The cold water splashed against the sink's rim as Rantaro attempted to get rid of the last bits of leftover ink on his arms. Thankfully, the girls were a little less aggressive with the coloring today. They usually got up to his shoulders… With the final designs turning to a heavy fade from all the scrubbing, he turned off the water and dried his forearms off on his shirt. A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was just nearing 6 pm. Somehow, it was a pretty calm day, which was rare for the daycare. None of the kids were too rowdy at all, which Rantaro was silently glad about. Rethinking the day's events- or lack thereof -he made his way to the door, getting his keys out to lock up the classroom. Next stop, the nurse’s office.

It wasn't too far from his classroom, another thing he was glad about. He hoped Kaede hadn't left yet, but she was usually still here at the end of the day. He peeked in, and there she was at her desk. A few random trinkets sat on it, alongside some sticky notes, a desk plate with her name and her position on it, and a picture of Kaede and a group of other friends. Rantaro could actually name a few of them. He knocked on the door, and she immediately perked up. 

"Come in!" Kaede said as she straightened herself out, placing her black pen back into her breast pocket. She always had it on hand, just in case she needed to write to her soulmate. Although it was obvious from the writing on her arm that all they really talked about was books and music anyway. Rantaro couldn't consider that silly though, he never had anything worth saying to his soulmate in the first place, so who was he to judge her?

He stepped into the office, scratching his arm lightly. Maybe all that scrubbing wasn't such a great idea. Upon seeing him, she lit up. Within a few seconds, she was already trying to show him her arm and explain everything they talked about. Most of it meshed together, but he made sure to listen intently.

"-And this is a book they recommended to me! I could probably find it on Amazon, right? But enough about me!" 

She grinned and pulled her arm back, now starting to pull her hair out of its ponytail. It was obvious to him that she wanted him to braid it, so he extended his hand and grabbed onto a strand of her hair, getting to work on braiding it.

"Tell me about you. How have things been?"

Somehow, her smile got wider. 

Rantaro shrugged as his fingers worked on sectioning the hair.

"Eh, same as always. Nothing much happens usually, y'know?"

Kaede nodded, almost messing up her braid.

"Agreed. Sometimes the routine is nice, but it's getting kind of awkward… Speaking of which, I need some advice," she said with a sigh. 

Oh, advice. He's good at that. Rantaro nodded as he folded one strand of hair over another, quickly forming a neat braid. Kaede took a short breath before diving into her issue.

"Recently, I gave my soulmate my phone number and we've been talking for a long… LONG time!"

She's right about that. Rantaro remembers when they first met, Kaede would often have writing all over her arms and sometimes even legs. Whoever her soulmate was, their hands must be tired from all that writing.

"And… We're thinking about trying to meet up. Do you think we should, or…?"

He left it at silence for a moment as he finished the braid, using a small elastic to hold it together.

"I say go for it. I mean, it's your soulmate after all. If you really want to, and you think it's safe, then what's the worst that could happen?"

Kaede looked at him with wide eyes, quickly straightening out her scrubs before grinning.

"Yeah, yeah! You're right! Thanks Taro, you're the best!"

She quickly gave him a hug before looking at the clock.

"Oop- Gotta go! Thank you again. Seriously, I don't know what I'd do without you." 

With a giddy squeal, she grabbed her bag off the chair and rushed out. That just left him… He'd have to lock up by himself, blegh.

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A calm day was one in a million, as was said among the staff of the daycare. Unfortunately, the statement was proven the next day, in more ways than one. For starters, all the kids seemed to have stored their energy for the exact day that one of the caregivers were unavailable, which left Rantaro with double the kids than usual. Hey, he's the Ultimate Child Caregiver, so he's supposed to be able to handle it. Still, Kaede promised she would help during her free time… Under the promise of free ice cream at the nearby diner of course. Healthy kids were just not her thing.

At the moment, it was roughly 2:30 pm, aka quiet time. Thank God. A good sum of the kids were asleep, besides one or two. The lights were off, and the only source of it was a small bit of sunlight streaming through the window. Rantaro was sitting next to it, with just enough light to see, as Sarah- one of the older girls -doodled with a giggle. He always let her color on his arms, it seemed to satisfy her creative spirit, and her parents seemed happy to not have their daughter come home with messy arms. She seemed pretty stuck on drawing flowers of all sizes, shapes, and colors. It was adorable to watch as she whispered a song to herself and filled in one of the flower's petals. 

Then, something unexpected happened. Sarah went back for another color, and Rantaro admired the colors on his arm, scanning each one carefully. Until he got to his palm. He gasped a little when he saw some words written in handwriting he didn't recognize… It was very child-like, but not messy, and all it read was 'What the fuck?'

Rantaro was less shocked about what it said, but more about how this was one of the few times, or rather the first time in a long time, that his soulmate wrote to him. Hell, when WAS the last time? Maybe this is the first time... Whatever it was, it immediately made him feel fuzzy. He leaned over to the marker box, and grabbed a purple one, quickly writing back in a neat print on his wrist; 'Hello to you too?'

Sarah yawned as she dug through the box again, her eyes shutting every so often. Quiet time didn't last forever, sadly, which prompted him to ask if she wanted to sleep. To that, she nodded and went to a free space on the mat. Wow… He watched in awe as the words formed on his skin, all by themself. No wonder Kaede liked this so much, it looked so cool to watch.

'Wasn't saying hi, but okay.'

Not the best first conversation, but it was something!

'Whatever, nice to meet you!' 

'Damn right'

A bit of an attitude… Rantaro switched to a red marker, just because he thought it looked better.

'So who are you?'

'A person'

'Wow, so impressive. I'm Rantaro!'

'Kokichi and your use of punctuation scares me'

He smiled to himself and looked at the clock. It's almost 3 pm, and he'd have to wake up the kids. No way he was doing that with all this writing on his arm though, no way. He looked back at his arm and tried to fit in as much as he could in as little space as possible. 

'I hate to cut this so short, but I've got stuff to do! If you want I could probably write something later, but right now I need to wash this off. Does that sound okay?'

He was already standing up and walking over to the sink while waiting.

'You didn't need to write an essay for that, but okay'

With that, the scrub process is repeated again, effectively getting out the words and leaving his arms nice and clean. Of course, Sarah would be a little disappointed that her work got washed off, but it's nothing she can't do again. For now, Rantaro spent the last small chunk of quiet time thinking about how nice it felt to finally get a reply… Oh did he have high hopes, and unknown to him right now, they would certainly be exceeded. 

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (24/30)

Summary:Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. 

What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: You guys are continuously awesome, and I appreciate you! 

As an FYI, I have this story completely written now, down to the last word, so if anyone was worrying about that, you don’t have to! But mostly I wanted to let you guys know that I’m going to be out of town for a week, so there won’t be any updates next week (but maybe an extra one this week)💕

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr:Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | 

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @notoriouscs

“Happy birthday,” Killian hums against her neck, kissing the sensitive skin and rubbing his chin into her. She claims that it doesn’t tickle her, but it always does. He hopes it’ll work to wake her up since nothing else will today. “Your alarm has been going off for fifteen minutes.”

“Hmm,” she mumbles, twisting to the side and burying her face in his bare shoulder, ignoring the sound of her alarm like she has been while he’s listened to it wondering just how long she’s going to sleep through it. He swears sometimes it’s like she’s dead to the world. Other times she’s woken up by a whisper of a touch. There’s no in between for her. “That doesn’t sound real.”

“It is, darling,” he promises, nudging her stomach with his knee until she flips back onto her pillow, opening one eye while she stares up at him. He knows that he’s got a smirk on his face, that she probably finds him to be obnoxious, but he’s been awake for longer than her. He’s not nearly as annoyed by life as she is. Then again, the only work he has to do today is finish up packing Emma’s things to take to the new place this weekend. He can fall back asleep as soon as she leaves for work and not have to get dressed until they go out for her birthday tonight.

“Can you go to work for me? I would love you for the rest of my life.”

“While that’s a promising offer, I’m just not sure that it’s worth it.”

“Hey,” she protests, opening up her other eye as her lips part, her teeth showing the slightest bit before she presses them together again.

“Just speaking the truth.” He leans over in the bed and quickly slants his lips over hers, waiting for her to open up to him until he can make it a little deeper, leisurely exploring her mouth and waking her up as he gets lost in the kiss and the way that Emma’s nose is buried in his cheek, her hand softly gripping in his hair. God, he loves when she messes with his hair. “You need to get up and get ready.”

“I can stay in bed for thirty more minutes if I don’t shower.”

“Yeah, but you won’t want to shower after work and before we go to dinner, so you should shower now to get it over with.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but when he kisses the tip of her nose, he can see her smile despite the still dimmed lighting in the room. “I don’t like that you’re reasonable.” “You do. I promise. Now go get ready, Swan.”

She mumbles and groans, but eventually she gets out of bed and turns the damn alarm off before she heads into her bathroom to shower. He’s a bit of an arse, so he doesn’t bother getting out of bed even though he should likely fix her breakfast since it’s her birthday and she hasn’t been too happy about turning twenty-nine. Knowing her, though, she won’t want to eat anything but a yogurt with how late she’s running, so he’ll make her food some other day. It’s the least he can do if he’s going to be up anyways.

He’s only been staying with Emma for a week and a half, and they’re still in her old apartment until the furniture they’ve bought gets moved to their place. It’s got a new mattress and bedframe like they both wanted and a couch, but everything else is still shipping or they haven’t found what they wanted yet. It was a pretty quick turnaround on buying the apartment in Seaport, so they weren’t exactly expecting to be able move in so quickly. He was expecting to have at least a few more weeks, but after they closed on the place, he called Robin and Will to help him pack up his clothes and a few personal items from home. It’s a bit of a disconnect walking into a place he’s lived for years and seeing it furnished only to turn a corner and realize that the books on his shelves are missing along with some of the photo frames he had on the side table in his study. He was going to leave them, but he wanted some personal mementos.

His clothes were easy enough to pack, especially since he only packed his winter things for the next few months, but that odd feeling of emptiness washed over him when he noticed that only his shorts and some swim trunks remained. That emptiness went away when he was hanging his things and a few of Emma’s in their closet, one that they get to share, and those awful Christmas sweaters they both own were hanging side by side, green tassel sticking out against all of the black and navy clothes that he owns. He’d never get rid of them, though. They mean too much to the both of them, so they’ll stay hanging in the closet.

God, it’s both weird and wonderful that they’re getting to share everything in a home together.

The wonder is most definitely going to fade once they get into an argument over the dishes or making the bed every day, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.

Maybe he’ll go buy those barstools Emma saw when they went shopping on Sunday. She’d really liked those, but they weren’t sure if the stools were the right size. He checked, and they are. That’d likely be a nice surprise, especially if he gave them to her today.

Barstools for his girlfriend’s birthday present. It’s what every woman wants.

Or a necklace with a pearl pendant hanging at the end of the chain because gifts are difficult and Emma never wants anything. He’d seen her look at the necklace, though, and she’d run her fingers over her collarbone for awhile after she saw it. It’s simple and beautiful, and he thinks Emma will like wearing it most days just so that she has something to fidget with. She’s always doing that with her earrings or bracelet, so a necklace should be nice, right?

A necklace and some barstools. And this hot chocolate basket that he’s been putting together, her swan mug hidden away in it. For someone who claims that it’s her favorite mug, she sure as hell doesn’t notice when it’s missing for weeks on end.

Yeah, those should be fine things to give her before tonight.

He donated some money to her work and to a few of her favorite charities, but he’s not going to tell her about them. He thought about it, but it doesn’t quite seem right. They’re in her honor and will help out a lot of people who need the help, and that’s all that matters to him.

He hears the water shut off in the bathroom, and he takes that as his cue to get finally get out of bed, throwing the covers off of his legs and slowly moving off of the old mattress so he can get some sweatpants out the suitcase he’s living out of, pulling them on and up over his hips so he won’t freeze while moving out to the kitchen. He may not make her breakfast, but he can at least make her some coffee so she won’t be cranky at work.

Coffee would also be really nice for him. Emma’s alarm went off for far too long, and he can feel the slightest pounding against his temple.

“Do you think it would be too obvious if I called in sick to work?” Emma ponders as she walks into the room a few minutes later, a towel still wrapped around her head but her lashes coated in mascara and face powdered so that her freckles have faded. “I mean, they know it’s my birthday, but people get sick on their birthdays. It’s just a day.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, the liquid still a little too hot from his lack of creamer, and shrugs his shoulders while Emma grabs a mug out of the cabinet and starts making her cup.

“You could, but if you don’t go to work, your other option is to stay here with me and pack up your belongings.”

“I mean, packing is very sexy. I could stay and we could forget about packing for you to give me all of your love and attention since it is my birthday after all.”

“For someone who has been dreading this day, which you literally just said is only a day on the calendar, you’re really milking it.”

“I am indeed,” she smiles, holding up the carton of milk she just got out of the fridge. Emma Swan, a woman who doesn’t like to let bad jokes pass by her. “I just don’t want to go to work. I’m working with Kathryn all day and blegh.”

“Did you just say the word blegh instead of making the sound?”

“Yep.”

“Weird.” “Debatable.”

“I’m sorry you have to work with Kathryn, but hopefully she won’t be that bad today. And I feel like you’re going to have a good day today, signing your new contract and all that, you badass of a woman.” He takes a step toward her and leans down to brush a kiss across her temple, knowing the toothpaste on her tongue won’t mix well with the coffee. He loves her and is proud of her for negotiating a raise that she deserves for her time there and for all the good work she’s done this year, but her really is not a fan of toothpaste mixed with coffee. “And when all is said and done today, I promise I’ll give you all of my love and attention.”

“That’s all I ask.”

When Emma leaves for work, he takes a quick shower and gets dressed to go to Gold and Williams to pick up some of the furniture they saw the other day. He’ll pack later. He’d honestly just feel better if he went ahead and got the furniture now, mixing in with the morning crowd on the train as he makes his way to the south end. He’s still got some work to go on navigating Boston, but he’s figuring things out. It’d help if he had a car here, but he doesn’t want to buy another one when he has a perfectly good car back in California. Then again, it’s either leave it there or take a road trip across the country every time he travels.

That would be ridiculous. The miles and time alone.

Maybe he’ll get Emma to take a road trip with him when she has off for Thanksgiving since they’re spending it with his family so that they can spend Christmas with Emma’s. Or maybe he’ll simply become a master of taking the train.

Or he could ship his car across the country. That’s a thing.

It takes a few minutes in the store for him to find the barstools, telling the man who’s helping him, Eric, that he wants four of them before he wanders throughout the rest of the store, looking at the chairs for the living room they’d both liked the other day. It’s odd shopping without Emma, but then again, she did most of their apartment viewing by herself so a chair seems like a much smaller thing. They can always return it if it doesn’t fit, but he likes the blue velvet and gold accented frames that surround them to go with the light gray of their couch. By the time he’s left the store he has put in orders for the barstools, arm chairs, lamps for their bedside tables, and a loveseat to sit at the foot of their bed all to be shipped to their apartment. He knows that Emma liked the loveseat because he distinctly remembers her sitting down on it and tracing her finger over the teal material and talking about how good it would look with the blue and green accents on the pillows on their bed.

He’s never thought this much about interior decorating, but Emma is having such a blast starting with a clean slate that he’s enjoying it. He likes watching everything come together too.

The rest of his morning is spent packing up Emma’s apartment, sectioning off her clothes and tying them up in bags so they’ll be easier to unpack. All of her dishes but a few they’ll need over the next few days go into boxes, wrapped in bubble wrap, and he makes note of the appliances she’s missing. He’ll ship some of his things from home here. He won’t need a fully stocked kitchen some place he’s not living full time, and there’s no need to buy more plates when he and Emma eat out off of paper plates most of the time anyways.

Maybe they need a few more plates for when they have guests. He’s thinking about flying out Liam, Elsa, and Aiden for Christmas and having them stay over so that they can meet everyone. Of course, he’ll have to fly in Anna and Kris as well. He could offer to fly in Anna and Elsa’s parents, but they’re apparently visiting after the holiday.

It’s something to think about, though.

When he tackles her shelves, that’s an animal in and off itself. She’s got everything marked for keep or donate since nothing in her apartment can stay here, and honestly, he’s a little confused by some of the markings. There are several rocks that don’t look like anything, but Emma has them marked to keep so he packs them away. He assumes Leo has given them to her, but he’s honestly got no idea.

The music on his phone stops playing as it rings, and he reaches to the side and slides his finger across the screen, tapping the speaker so he doesn’t have to pick it up.

“Hey, Will.”

“Why the bloody hell do you have me watering these plants if you don’t even live here anymore? Can’t I just let them die?”

“Nice to hear from you too,” he scoffs, wrapping up a picture frame. “And yes, you have to water them until I get them moved to Liam’s or Rob’s. Or yours. I think you’re rather fond of the plants, mate.”

“I don’t like your bloody plants.”

“It’s okay to like the plants. They’d make your apartment look less like a bachelor lives there.”

“A bachelor does live there.”

“Seriously, take the plants with you.”

“If I take the plants with me, then you won’t pay me to water them.”

“Technically I also pay you to dust, but you never do that.”

“I’m not your maid. I’m your friend.”

“Who likes the money I pay you out of the goodness of my heart for helping me with my house.”

“You’re the most generous man in all of Hollywood,” Will chuckles as the distinctive sound of the ceiling fan in Killian’s study spins. It’s got this thing where it clicks if it spins too quickly. He needs to fix that. “What are you doing today? You got plans? Rob, Rol, and I are going to watch the Kings play later. You want to join us from afar?”

“What time?”

“Six our time.”

He clicks his tongue as he wraps another frame that’s filled with a picture of Emma holding both Leo and Brody the day after Brody was born. God, that had been such an awful day for him, but Emma looks so besotted with those boys that it doesn’t even matter. It worked out for them anyways. They worked it out.

“I can’t,” he admits, feeling the smallest tinge of guilt, but this is how things are going to be sometimes. Not all of the time, but still. He’ll have to take the three of them to a match sometime soon. Maybe he’ll buy them passes for Christmas. “It’s Emma’s birthday, so we’re going out. I’ll try another time though, okay?”

“Aye, that’s fine. It’s not like it’s going to be a good one anyways. Tell your lady I said happy birthday.”

“I will. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Are you not working at the bar tonight?”

“No, I’ve got today off. Oi, man, I’ve got to tell you about this guy who came in last night.”

He and Will keep talking until Killian’s finished packing up the bookshelves, everything sorted into different boxes and bags and stacked up next to the door as Will regales him with stories of the bar and Roland’s attempt at ice skating for the first time last week. Robin’s also apparently been dating one of the moms of one of Roland’s classmates. He leaves for a little bit of time and suddenly everyone is getting their lives together. He absolutely cannot wait to annoy Rob about this the next time they talk. The man would rather die than talk about his dating life, so he kind of wonders how exactly Will knew about Robin’s new woman. He never explained. Eventually Will has to go, and Killian’s left spending the rest of the day doing as much packing as he can, only stopping to eat a late lunch and drink another cup of coffee.

“How is it so cold outside?” Emma asks as she pulls off her jacket and takes her beanie off, shaking her hair out and closing the front door behind her. “Seriously, it’s freezing out there. Have you been outside today? Probably not. You’ve probably been packing this entire time. Sorry I couldn’t call at lunch. I missed it to read over my contract one more time. Your girl has officially got herself a pay raise.”

“Congrats, love,” he laughs, taping up a box and then putting his tape down so that he can walk over to the kitchen where Emma’s puttering around in the cabinets. They’re mostly empty now, but she’s probably trying to find a glass. “Do you feel less stressed?”

“Exponentially.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to her cheek before reaching above her and getting a glass out of the cabinet to hand to her. “I actually went and got some furniture for us this morning, some of the stuff we looked at on Sunday, and it’s being delivered to the apartment. And then I was packing up some things we hadn’t gotten yet. I was about to go work in your hallway closet.”

“I can do that,” she blurts, her cheeks flushing, and he quirks his brow as the gears start turning in his mind over why she wouldn’t want him messing with the closet.

“You’re hiding something.”

“I am not.”

“You’re a horrible liar, remember?”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“So what do you have hidden in the closet? I’ve been in there before, so I know that it’s not dead bodies or anything.”

“Gross.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. I’m also going to go look.”

He sidesteps out of Emma’s way, the curiosity too much, but he also knows that if Emma really doesn’t want him to look, she’ll tell him to stop. And he will. Whatever she’s hiding isn’t bad or untrustworthy. He simply doesn’t know what it is.

“Killian,” she chuckles, grabbing onto the back of his shirt and tugging him back so that he turns around and backs himself up against the wall to look down at Emma. Her eyes have widened, and her lips are somewhere between a smile and a quiver. He simply can’t tell. “Please don’t look in the closet.”

“I won’t if you really don’t want me to. I just wonder how you didn’t think of me looking in there while you were gone today.”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot about your deep, dark secret?”

“It’s not a deep, dark secret. It’s a surprise for you.”

“For little old me on your birthday?”

“Oh my gosh,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes and leaning forward to pat his chest. “You’re so cocky, but yes, for you. It was – I was – do you just want it now?”

He does, but he can be patient.

“You can save it. Today is about you anyways.”

Emma groans, actually groans, and it’s a bit of a mixture between frustration and pleasure. He’s got no clue what’s going on right now. Absolutely none.

“It’s not a big deal,” she starts, stepping to the side and sliding open the closet door, the old folds of it crunching the slightest bit. “Like, it’s really not a big deal. I was going to put them up at the new apartment and let you, you know, just notice when you noticed.” She bends down and picks up a small box, and when she hands it to him, he can see Liam’s address on the return label. What the hell? “Just open it or whatever.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, looking up at her and noticing the way she’s fidgeting, her feet never staying in place. “Swan, unless there’s something super freaky in here that my brother has sent you, and I’m not sure where the limitations lie, I promise that there’s no need to be nervous.”

It takes a bit of work to open the package. Liam really doubles down on masking tape and he’s working with just his nails, but eventually he gets into it, the cardboard folds moving open and revealing a few envelopes that are full of pictures…of him. They’re of him. There’s one of him as a child with his mum, a blue popsicle melted all over him. There’s another of he and Liam at his graduation, another of them when they’d just moved into the apartment in California, and several others that he’s seen before but not in a long time. These are from the books that Liam keeps, that he’s made sure to save even when they were in the system and could barely have belongings. These are his childhood, the fond memories of his childhood, and despite how much he’s always loved them, for a long time it was difficult for him to look at some of them, especially the ones with his mother.

“Did you,” he starts, putting the pictures back in the box, “did you ask Liam for family photos so you could put them up in the apartment to surprise me?”

“Yeah. I thought – I thought it would be a nice thing for you to have some of your home here. And, like, I figured it was a better thing than a picture of Queen Elizabeth or, like, a palm tree that would just die in this climate. I know it’s not a big thing but I – ”

“Emma,” he laughs, dropping the box to the ground and stepping forward to wrap his arm around her waist, holding onto her tightly as he pushes her up to the wall and quickly slants his lips over hers, feeling the softness of her mouth as she gasps into his own. He knows that he’s surprised her, that she didn’t expect such a fierce moment over what she very obviously thinks is a big deal but won’t admit, but the truth of the matter is that it is a big deal. They’re flush against each other and into the wall, and when his tongue moves against hers, she cants her hips up to his as he matches her rocks, the two of them moving together.

He knows that they’re both sentimental, that they both hold onto things from their childhood, that they hold onto the happy moments, but he also knows that they’re often only sentimental about it late at night when maybe exhaustion has gotten to them. Sometimes it’s when they’re walking on the beach by his house, Emma wrapped up in a sweater that reaches her thighs as she tells him about the first time she made a friend who she got to stay around for more than a few months before she was moved to another house in the state. It’s a sometimes thing, not an always, but it means the absolute world to him that Emma would do this.

She hasn’t moved the mountains, but he would never ask or expect her to.

He’d go to the end of the world for her, and he knows that she’d do the same.

Emma’s hands move over his shoulders, and it’s what snaps him into attention before he moves his lips from hers and trails them along her jaw, burying his face in her neck and breathing her in as his heart pounds against his ribcage.

“So you like them?”

He nods into her neck before he pulls back, looking into the gleam of her eyes before he leans forward and kisses her noise, his breath still catching up to him as he rests his forehead against hers. “I love them. Why were you so nervous?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is a bit high, the smallest bit broken, and he groans a bit knowing that it’s all because of him, that their hips are still pushed together with Emma pinned to the wall. “I wanted to do something big for you to make Boston your home a bit more easily, but I couldn’t think of anything. And I don’t know. I figured you wouldn’t pack up all of the pictures you have at home so that you would still have them when you’re there. It was the least I could do, and I wasn’t going to make a big deal about them, but then you were going into the closet and yeah.”

“I did pack some of them,” he chuckles, leaning back and flashing her a grin so that she’ll stop biting her lip. He’s just now noticing that his hand has traveled up her shirt, and he wonders when he started tracing her spine. “Not all of them but a few, but I don’t – I hadn’t gone into those pictures for years. It’s so hard to see Mum’s face sometimes, but this is good. I appreciate it. Really. I don’t need you to do big gestures. I don’t – Emma I’m happy to be here. I can’t say it enough. I’m happy to be here and to be with you.”

“Yeah,” she nods, moving her hands back up his arms to his shoulders before her hands cup his face, soft pads caressing him as he leans his cheek into her so that he can kiss her wrist, “I’m happy too. We should probably stop making out in my hallway and get ready for dinner.” She pats his face as her lips curl into a smile that makes her eyes crinkle. “You need time to fix up that face.”

“My face looks fine.”

“Obviously you already packed up all of the mirrors in this place.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to get ready even though he needs to take a shower, and after he gives Emma her gifts, clasping the ends of her necklace together over the back of her neck, they make their way outside so they can drive to dinner. Emma has work in the morning, so neither of them are really planning on drinking too much or staying out late.

“So this place is really called the Barking Crab?” he asks as they walk from the parking deck to the restaurant, moving through the surprisingly crowded streets even with the chill in the air. Emma had put on a short black dress earlier, had checked the weather, and then quickly changed into black jeans and a sweater so that she wouldn’t freeze. As much as he appreciated the dress, he appreciates Emma not dying of hypothermia more.

“Yep. It’s good and fun, right on the water obviously. You’ll like it because as much as I know that you like the occasional stuffy restaurant, how can you pass up eating greasy food out of baskets?”

“You can’t,” he scoffs, reaching down to wrap his hand over her palm while they walk. “And it’s seafood, so how can it get better?”

“If it were a cheeseburger.”

“I’m sure they have those here, but considering you picked the place, Swan, I don’t think you can complain.”

“We already talked about this. It’s my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It definitely is.”

“So if you committed murder, you think you could get away with it by saying it happened on your birthday?”

“You took that from zero to one hundred real quick.”

“I was making a point.”

“One I’m choosing to ignore.” Her steps hurry then, heels clicking against the pavement, and he has to quicken his step to keep up. “I see Mary Margaret at a table.”

“She got one outside? It’s freezing.”

“They have heaters.”

“Still.”

“You’ll be fine,” Emma laughs, squeezing his hand tightly before releasing him and running up to meet her friends, wrapping Mary Margaret in a tight embrace, the two of them rocking from side to side.

She’s already moved onto David by the time that he gets there, so he bends down and presses a kiss against Mary Margaret’s cheek, asking her how she is and about the kids before he’s hugging David and doing the same to him. He’s just about to settle down when Ruby and Dorothy show up, so it’s another mess of hugs and too much conversation all happening at once. He’s only met Dorothy in a professional capacity, but he feels as if he knows her a bit from Emma and Ruby talking about her. She’s great, if not a bit shy, but that’s honestly not an option with Emma and her friends.

Okay, so it’s not an option with Ruby, but he doubts Dorothy would be here if she didn’t fancy Ruby.

Eventually the all sit down around the table Mary Margaret got for them, Emma sliding into the chair next to him and opening up the menu to read through all of the cocktails out loud.

“You’d like the Dark and Stormy, babe,” she tells him, pointing to the rum on the menu, “or maybe the Tea Party since, you know, you’re a Brit in Boston.”

“So damn funny,” he scoffs, tapping his fingers against her thigh from where his hand has been resting.

“I’ve never even thought about that before,” David laughs, closing his menu. “You may also like the Bloody Mary.”

“You’re all regular comedians.”

“Aw, he’s kind of crabby,” Ruby sighs, her lips curling up into a smile. “So obviously the Crabby Margarita will also work for you.”

“I believe a margarita would be better for Mary Margaret.”

“Oh I’m not drinking tonight, but I appreciate the pun,” she sighs sweetly, obviously not going to get in on teasing him about his heritage. “Besides, tonight is about Emma and being one year away from thirty, flirty, and thriving. We should totally be making fun of her.”

“What kind of alcohol puns can you make about Emma, though?” Dorothy asks.

“Not really any,” Ruby admits, shrugging her shoulders before taking a sip of her water. “Though, usually when we’re making fun of Emma, we talk about the great tequila incident of 2012.”

“No.”

“Wait,” he laughs, twisting his head to look at Emma and the absolute look of horror that is covering every inch of her skin, “what is this now? I’ve never heard of it, and I really feel like I should know about something that’s called the great tequila incident of 2012.”

“Babe, you really don’t want to know.”

“I really do,” he promises, excitement running through him as he looks between David, Mary Margaret, and Ruby to see which of them is going to break and tell this story.

“So Emma and I were living in this awful apartment,” Mary Margaret begins, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear only for it to fall back from not being long enough, “and we have absolutely no money. I’m a teacher fresh out of getting my Masters and Emma’s just gotten hired as an assistant PR director after that shitty receptionist job she’d had, so we, literally, never go out to do anything because we don’t have money. Ever.”

“Until your homegirl got hired at the same place as Emma,” Ruby adds, excitedly moving her shoulders up and down while Emma’s leg taps underneath his hand.

“Yeah, so we went out to celebrate Ruby getting a new job because she’d spent so damn long in school, and your girlfriend who is about ready to bolt right now, has a few too many drinks. She’s always been a bit of a lightweight.”

“That’s rich coming from you, honey.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes at her husband before looking back at him. “That’s not the point. You’re just mad because you weren’t there that night. Anyways, we’re at a bar and Emma has had too much tequila, so when Ruby suggests that it’s time to go home, Emma just refuses. I mean, absolutely refuses because that awful song Call Me Maybe is on, and she insisted that she had to go around quoting it to every man in the bar before she gave them her number.”

“Please tell me you didn’t, Swan.”

“I did,” she groans, leaning into his shoulder and burying her face in his jacket. “I had to change my number because I kept getting calls asking to talk to the hot blonde that gave away her number and then proceeded to ask every single person if they’d be willing to go on a Segway tour with them by saying ‘we could see Boston, and then I could show you my place.’”

The laughter starts in his stomach, but it makes its way up his entire body, his core and his shoulders shaking as it bubbles up and out of his mouth, nothing containing it as Emma keeps her face buried in his shoulder despite the fact that he must be moving her. It’s not the most embarrassing thing in the world. Not really, but he’s imagining Emma singing the song and propositioning all of those people while Ruby and Mary Margaret were likely curled up in balls laughing at her.

“Why a Segway tour, Swan?” he laughs, squeezing her thigh. “What about that would lead you to taking these guys back to your place?”

“I don’t know. I was drunk. I obviously wasn’t thinking.”

“So now Emma isn’t supposed to drink tequila, and if she does, she either has to sing the entirety of Call Me Maybe or pay for all of us to go on a Segway tour of Boston.”

“Emma, love,” he soothes, moving his hand from her thigh and wrapping it around her shoulder so that he can rub it up and down her arm as she obviously replays the night in her mind, “I’m going to need you to stop drinking too much in front of Ruby and Mary Margaret because it seems to get you into all kinds of predicaments.”

“But that’s how she met you,” Ruby points out, and he smiles at the thought. “I’m still waiting for my boat, by the way. I want it to be called The Love Boat. I’ve said it before, but I obviously need to say it again. I think red will be a good color for it, not tacky at all.”

“You’re not getting a boat,” Emma groans, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “Also, are we ever going to order? Because it’s my birthday, and I want to eat.”

They do eventually order, and soon the table is full of ridiculous cocktails and water glasses as well as crab, lobster rolls, shrimp, and more seafood than six people will need. But they manage to eat most of it between laughing and sharing more embarrassing stories about Emma. He’s got several up his sleeve, but he’d rather listen to the tales of when all of them were in university together (apparently David came along a bit later, but he knows the stories well enough) and just starting out. Emma is so comfortable with her friends, comfortable with letting them tease her and share things from a time when she likely wasn’t sure of trusting people too much, and he’s not sure if he’s ever been more thankful for three of the people sitting across from him.

They were the ones who Emma opened her heart up to and who didn’t let her down for the first time in her life, and he’s exponentially glad that she has them.

“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Emma mutters after she takes another sip of her water before placing it on the table.

“I’ll join you,” Mary Margaret adds only for Ruby and Dorothy to say the same thing. “And you two cannot make a joke about women traveling in packs to the bathroom when the two of you do stuff like that all of the time.”

“Wasn’t going to, honey,” David sighs, smiling up at his wife. Mary Margaret simply smiles back before she’s walking away, trailing after everyone else as they disappear into the restaurant and out of sight. “So do you feel like you’ve officially been initiated into a Boston man? You’re eating seafood by the harbor when it’s freezing outside. All you need is to be wearing a Sox cap.”

“Well, I did leave my hat and my jersey at home. I knew I was forgetting something when we left the apartment. But yeah,” he shrugs, fingering at the condensation on his glass, “it feels good to be here. It’s definitely not California, but I’m happy. I can’t wait to get into the new place, though. I’m tripping over boxes every two seconds.”

“You never know how much stuff you have until you move, and Emma’s a packrat so that’s got to be awful.”

“It’s not that bad,” he admits, twisting his head and looking out at the water past all of the people who are crowding the streets. “We’ve gone through everything and either donated it, trashed it, or packed it. I don’t think either of us really expected to be able to move so quickly.”

“But when has anything in your relationship ever gone as normal?”

He clicks his tongue, not really sure how to answer that. “Eh, depends on what you’re saying is normal. I think we do what works for us. We haven’t been together for years or anything, but we’ve been together for awhile. And besides two or three days, once we were in, we were all in.”

David’s eyes slant for a moment, the blue turning into slits, and his lips flatten out into a straight line while he looks at Killian. He briefly sees David tilt his head to the side, something almost unnoticeable, but then he’s widening his eyes again as his features relax. He was just being studied, and he’s honestly not sure why.

“You’re going to propose.”

If he were holding his drink instead of thumbing at the water on it while it rests on the table, he’d drop it. He’d drop it and then likely freeze for the chill that’s blowing over the restaurant, the temperatures continuing to fall the longer they stay out here. He can feel the heat as it moves across his face, red flames tickling his skin, and he knows that it’s not from the nip of the air or the warmth of the heater that’s just behind their table.

“Possibly,” he concedes, his eyes glancing over to where Emma had disappeared into the restaurant. As much as he’d like to talk about his thoughts and his plans and the rings that he’s been looking at when he can, he knows that they don’t have a lot of time. “How the hell do you know that?”

“You’re not as suave and mysterious as you think.” He raises a brow, and waits for David to continue. “You love her. You love her in the way that I love Mary Margaret, and while you two are different, it’s still the same.”

“Aye,” he smiles, eyes only straying from David to look to make sure no one is returning to the table, “I do. I love her, and I want to marry her. I know that now isn’t the time, that things are crazy with the move, but I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Killian, that’s incredible,” he laughs, his own face covered in lines while he reaches down to break off a piece of bread. “Emma is like a younger sister to me, and I love her. I just want her to be happy. And you’ve grown on me too, so I guess I want that for you.”

He winks, knowing that he’s got a smirk curling up on his lips. “I tend to have that effect on people.”

Emma comes back to the table first, her hair now pulled up in a ponytail, and sits back down in her chair, her hand landing on his knee and squeezing while Mary Margaret follows closely behind her.

“Where are Ruby and Dorothy?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emma mumbles.

“They’re asking the chef if she’d be willing to make Emma a small birthday cake,” Mary Margaret explains as she rolls her eyes a bit at Emma. “Emma’s embarrassed because she doesn’t want the entire restaurant looking at her as they sing.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I would have been fine if Killian and I had just stopped for milkshakes on the way home.”

“Nonsense, Swan, you’ve got to have your birthday cake.”

Ruby and Dorothy come back to the table with the promise that Emma is going to have a birthday cake brought out to her in a few minutes. Sure enough their waitress comes to the table with a serving dish full of cake, Emma’s name written in sauce on the white of the plate, and everyone sings to her while he watches her attempt not to blush. It doesn’t work, but she tries.

And later that night after Emma has fallen asleep claiming too much cake and seafood, he scrolls through his phone at the pictures from tonight. There’s several of he and Emma, even more of shots he had to take for she and her friends, but as he does, he never uploads a photo of her face online, not since the night they met at the charity gala. Who he’s dating isn’t a secret, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to control what he puts out there on the rare occasions that he does post things online so that Robin doesn’t get onto him about not being social media savvy enough.

So it’s that thought that has him posting a photo of Emma as everyone sings to her. Her hands are covering her face, the loose strands of her ponytail doing the rest of the work, but he can still see the slightest bit of her smile under the glow of the candle light and the bulb lights the restaurant had up.

KillianJonesOfficial: Happy birthday, my love.

He wants to say more, but he thinks he’d rather keep those thoughts to he and Emma. She’s the only one who really needs to hear them.

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

My review/commentary of the movie “Unplanned”

It was literally only me and two other people in the theater so I pulled out my iPod and typed out my comments and thoughts as the movie went along. Here y’all go. Now you don’t have to waste your money (or your time if you were gonna torrent it or something lmao)

——

🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

-narration is dull

-lines sound recited

-The abortion scene was overdramatic

-the person holding down the girl who was getting the abortion was portrayed exactly how I expected by these wackjobs. 🙄 “You wanna get it done, don’t you?” Really? Ugh.

-lines are still sounded stilted

-“Never trust a decision you don’t want your mom to know about” 🙄🙄🙄 ...you’re an adult??? Why do you still need mommy holding your hand

-On Saturday’s we only do abortions? The fuck

-at least they also showed the loony religious zealots

-sprinkler scene was funny tho lmao

-“we can’t force them to do anything. “ lmao Mary whatshername sounded sad about that

-hmm...you were at college..why were you worried about your parents finding out you were having sex? You’re an adult

-“rocking with their hands wrapped around the bellies” right. Sure they were. ...🙄🙄🙄🙄

-her husband looks like a douche btw

-🙄🙄 of course an induced abortion is gonna hurt? Your uterus contracts for that shit. You get cramps while on your period so Wtf was she expecting?? No wayyyyy she was not informed about the side effects. There’s literally a tdlr on plan b pills, why wouldn’t there be for abortion pills??? Right like I’m gonna buy that bs

-her mom as portrayed in the movie is a huuuuuge bitch to me even tho I know err body else is gonna think she’s just a Concerned Mama

-hmm. Married twice. Doesn’t sound like she follows the so called good book...

-hmm. At church. So religion is in this mess. Why am I not surprised

-knocking on 25,000 doors? I believe it, actually. Once I had Jehovah’s Witnesses come to my house like three goddamn times in a week

-hm. Dress the director in black during the showing of fetuses. How subtle 🙄🙄🙄

-hmm. Finds out she’s pregnant. Director conveniently offers to “take care of it”. Ughhhhhhhh 🙄

-“if anything it will only encourage them to abort” 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 right. Because whenever I see a pregnant lady I think by golly I need me one of those new fangled abortion thingies

-if a patient is unsure, I highly doubt she’d be coerced into going through with the abortion

-“we never call an ambulance”??? How convenient that the callous director is there again. 🙄 “I don’t care if you’re comfortable, just do it!!” Oh Jesus Christ on a crosssssss 🙄🙄🙄🙄

-“just a little blood”. I know they keep on trying to make the director chick evil or whatever but clearly she said this in hyperbole. Imagine if a doctor started panicking and wailing at the sight of blood. 🙄🙄🙄

-music sucks in this movie btw

-38 pregnancies in the space of 4 hours terminated ...hm.. gonna have to look up that stat and see if it’s not bs like the majority of this movie so far

-well I would understand why Cheryl is “beside yourself”. There’s people trying to force their beliefs on others even tho they keep assuring everyone that wE dOnT fOrCe pEoPlE blah blah blahh 🙄🙄🙄

-why does the actress for Abby’s mom literally look only five years older than her wtf

-damn these parents (Abby’s) need to mind their business

-it’s gods will...? Wow. Killer plan, god. 🙄

-goddddd . These religious peaceful protesters are actually more insidious than the yelling lunatics

-planned Parenthood dehumanizes the unborn...! Huh. You care about human life? Just not the women carrying it I guess 🙄🙄🙄

-swear to Christ if my sisters or mom tried to stop me by crying and causing a scene I’d just keep going. Abby judging Rhonda like that. Ok. Keep feeling high and mighty.

-ughhhhh there’s that Mary Lisa quack again

-aaaand another crappy Christian song blegh

-so far, the gist of it: literally everyone in Abby’s life is against her job and current view of PP

-hmm. So Abby wanted to put women’s lives in danger during a hurricane?

-huh. Her new husband is a douche too. What a surprise.

-hmm. Abortion quotas? What bs is this?

-“Abortion is our fries and soda. ABORTION PAYS FOR ALL OF IT. BLEGHHH.” 🙄🙄🙄

-“THESE ARE LITTLE BABIES”. Does . Anyone. In. This. Movie. Ever. Think. About. The. Women. Ever?????? Like, at all? Her husband is a douchhhhheeee

-hmm. Funny they should bring up Dr. Tiller. The planned Parenthood employees were right, the prolifers just wanted to avoid blame with their fake sympathy.

-Mary Lisa is annoying af

-somehow I don’t buy that Abby was sooooooo traumatized by that abortion when she’s had two previous ones.

-“rough day at the office?? Yeah you could say that”! UGHHHHHH I literally predicted her next line. This movie is so trite 🙄🙄🙄

-We’RE HERE TO HELP no you’re not, you’re there to impose your religion on others you hokey self important asshole

-her husband is SUCH A DOUCHE.

-well, you have mommy’s approval now, Abby. I hope it was worth sabotaging an organization that helps women in need.

-my eyes have been dry this entire time btw 😘

-don’t worry Abby. You may have fucked up the futures of millions of women, but at least you’re good with the almighty GOD and that’s what really matters isn’t? 😌💢

-those women didn’t go into the clinic because you and your brood are PUBLICLY SHAMING THEM under the guise of helping.

-size of the fetus? Size of the skull determines the price? They don’t offer solutions only abortions? Aaaaaand the full on bullshit is finally here after the pretending to “fairly” portray the other side. 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

-I love Sheryl! Wooooo!! ✊🏽🖤

-planned Parenthood is one of the most powerful organizations on the planet?? 😆😆😆 that’s news to me and I’m pro choice, bitch! Move over, Apple! Tesla who??? Hhahahahahahahahahaha this movie is a comedy now I guess

-you’re right that Jeff isn’t in this for the money, Christian boy. But I guarantee he’s not in this for the fight against abortion. He’s in this for the notoriety and free advertising. He’s a LAWYER. It’s what lawyers do.

-planned Parenthood will go to any lengths to destroy anyone that goes against them? Hmm. Sounds a lot like a great deal of religious institutions.

-lmaoooo the character of Sheryl carries this movie

-hmm. Sheryl is dressed in black again.

-I’m gonna donate to whatever Planned Parenthood is still in Texas after I’m done watching this crock of shit. And it’ll be in the exact amount that I paid to see this pile of crap.

-That rose placing was the most fake, performative “grief” bs ever. Gas lighting type shit. This movie was terrible.

-ugh FINALLY ITS OVER

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Eighty-Nine: A Sudden Chill ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, pregnancy ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

...it’s been getting worse.

Like everything that snowballs, it started small. People sneering, glowering, muttering just within earshot. Sasuke had hoped that it would end there. He’d been accustomed to being whispered about. Ever since his clan was wiped out, he’d been a subject of gossip.

Of course...this was different.

Dangerous.

And part of him knew when it began...it wouldn’t stop there.

The growth in bravery was slight. People knocking shoulders with him where he walked. Throwing things...though he was never hit. It took far more than that to even begin to scratch one like Uchiha Sasuke. Sometimes people would dare to yell insults. He wouldn’t even glance their way.

None of them were worth his time.

It wasn’t until it started affecting others that Sasuke began to feel real dread.

The first, oddly enough, was Hinata. The pair of them had become friends relatively quickly. Partly due to their clan alliance, but also due to Sasuke’s avoiding his teammates...which led to them dating. And left both him and the Hyūga as third and fourth wheels. She was one of the few who accepted his changes without bias or hard feelings. She, more than most...could understand what he was going through.

But he hadn’t expected a budding friendship to be enough to warrant her becoming a target. Suddenly she was getting dirty looks and coarse words thrown at her...and even tangible things.

That...made him angry.

And it also made him second guess branching out. He didn’t want his reputation - his clan’s reputation - soiling anyone else. It was bad enough Itachi’s family too received criticism.

Sins of the father.

But Hinata was quietly stubborn. She insisted they work together on the new police force...and they ended up partners. And eventually, they ended up dating.

After a long while, and a lengthy talk discussing the risks - irreparable risks - they agreed to get married.

And as they both knew it would, it continued: the harassment, the judgment, the hatred from those the most against the remaining Uchiha and their reputations.

With both wives now pregnant, Sasuke can’t help but feel even more paranoid than usual. Evidence has been mounting of an organized effort against them. And something in his gut tells him that they won’t stop to consider repercussions of attacking pregnant women.

Sadly...he’s right.

The first true strike against them comes against their supposed weakest point: Itachi’s wife and children. In broad daylight. In a crowded village thoroughfare. Thankfully she’s not nearly as weak as they assumed, and manages to stop the lone would-be assassin. A Hyūga officer detains them...but not before Sasuke himself gets to land a satisfying blow of his elbow to their temple.

He’s rarely been so furious.

Hinata, thankfully, is safe within the Hyūga compound at the time, still an active participant in her clan’s politics even with Hanabi as the upcoming clan head. But news travels quickly, and she wastes no time reuniting with her husband.

“What happened?”

“Someone attacked Itachi’s family. They’re safe - she stopped them. We’re waiting for T&I to come assist with the interrogation. Ino will be here soon.”

Looking only partly relieved, Hinata gives a soft sound of distress before collapsing into her husband’s arms. He accepts her gladly, one arm vice-like around her back as his rebuilt hand cradles the rear of her head.

But, to everyone’s shock...the interrogation goes horribly awry.

As Ino prepares to enter the assailant’s mind...they begin to convulse. Another medic is brought in, but it’s too late.

A cyanide capsule built into a false tooth.

Even Sasuke can hardly believe it. To think someone could be that desperate to remain silent.

Whatever they’re dealing with...it’s far more grave than he ever wanted to believe.

With the mind gone, all they have left to glean from is the body, and it tells them almost nothing. Whoever this was...they took all they could with them.

The brothers convene after, Shisui joining them and looking oddly grave. They stretch their intellects to the brink...but they just don’t have enough evidence to begin pointing fingers. Whoever is behind this attack - and likely others, like the threats carved into Itachi’s door weeks prior - is nothing to mess with.

The family enters a crisis mode. No one travels alone. No one leaves the compound unless absolutely necessary. Itachi gathers his most trusted ANBU officers to patrol their land and look for possible intruders. Itachi’s wife is escorted as she walks her children the Academy.

None of them can relax.

The tension nearly drives Sasuke mad. He isn’t a man of patience and lying in wait like his brother or his cousin. If something is wrong, he wants to confront it now. Get it over with! He doesn’t care how dangerous it is. Just let him tear the people threatening his family in half, and be done with it!

Having to just sit and wait is akin to torture.

Coming home after a shift (which, for the time being, is the manor as they all converge together to feel safe), Sasuke finds it unoccupied. Shisui, he knows, is out of the village with Kakashi. Itachi is working around the clock to hunt down their assailants.

...where are the women?

Panic.

At the very least, he can hope they’re together. But that doesn’t stop Sasuke from sprinting out of the house and onto rooftops in search of them. The twins - are the children with them? If Itachi’s ANBU aren’t watching them, he’s gonna -

There they are.

They’re stopped along the roadside, just the pair of them. But neither look panicked - the twins must be with someone else. The Hyūga, most likely. But that doesn’t explain what they’re doing.

They almost appear to be lightly bickering - the elder looks scolding, and Hinata stubborn as she keeps walking.

He’s almost upon them when Sasuke gets a sudden chill, like a cold finger run up his spine. While he’s not a sensor like Itachi’s wife, he almost seems to notice it the same moment she does. Like slow-motion, she turns to face the alleyway they’re passing. One arm reaches to shove Hinata behind her, the other lifting and summoning chakra.

It’s too slow…!

He’s too slow!

The barrier is only half-erected when the explosive tag goes off. Most of the blast is redirected back down the alley, some of it reaching up over the top of the chakra wall. Smoke and debris quickly fills the air alongside screams.

Sasuke’s blood runs cold. A simple fūton blows aside the curling black and grey plumes. Both buildings have suffered damage, a few people within them hurt...but none appear dead. Those on the street were mostly protected, Hinata fallen back on her rear from the concussion. Nearby, unconscious, is her sister-in-law.

Quickly assessing that Hinata’s gravest injuries are skinned palms, Sasuke can’t help a wary glance to her companion.

Itachi’s going to lose it.

Already ANBU begin looking her over before hauling her toward the hospital.

“...she…”

Looking back to his wife, Sasuke takes her hands, seeing her flinch at her wounds. “...are you all right?”

“...fine.” Her tone is light and airy, clearly shocked. “...she sensed the chakra of the tag when it triggered. Pushed...p-pushed me back. I, I couldn’t -”

“She’s going to be fine. Looks like she just got thrown back.”

“But she’s -?”

“They’ll take care of it. For now, I need to get you home.”

“Someone should be with her!”

“I’m sure Itachi’s already on his way. For right now, top priority is getting you someplace safe. Where are the twins?”

“With...with Neji and Tenten…”

“What were you doing out here, Hinata?”

There’s a long pause as she looks to her hands. “...I just...w-wanted to go shopping. Just for a bit. I’m so t-tired of being cooped up. I thought it would be fine. She told me, and I...I didn’t…”

“...it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. Come on...let’s get you home. I’ll clean and wrap your hands.” He’s no medinin, but he can do that much. “And promise me: don’t go anywhere unless it’s with me. She saved you this time, but -”

Guilt pulls at Hinata’s features. “...this is my fault…!”

“No. The only ones at fault here are the bastards doing this to us. And it’s not just us: they put civilians in harm’s way. Not you, not me...them.” Sasuke scowls, simply scooping her up as more ANBU and UHPF officers flood the scene. “...Kakashi won’t be able to avoid helping us now. Not when it’s affecting his villagers.”

“...we’re villagers, too…”

“...I know.”

...for now...

     Late, tired, blegh.      More progression in the ALAS verse of how the Uchiha (including those born and married in) are being affected by the overall clan reputation.      And it only gets worse from here :D      This isn't necessarily a canon event (the last bit, at least - the rest IS). Just more of a random possible happening at some point. Idk, I'm tired and had a very long day, so...this isn't the best. I had to wing a lot of it. But hey, a day done is a day done, right?      Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading~